


I Can't Help Falling In Love With You

by johnandsherlocks



Series: I Can't Help Falling In Love With You [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Greasers, Alternate Universe - High School, But a lot of angst to get there, But mostly angst, Drug Use, Greaser Sherlock, Greaser!lock, Greaserlock, Guaranteed happy ending, M/M, Nerd John, Teenlock, but also fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-26 18:03:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 50
Words: 183,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2661338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnandsherlocks/pseuds/johnandsherlocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a new boy in high school determined to make John's life a mess. Who would have thought how this would end up?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. That'll be the day

**Author's Note:**

> Translation into italian [here](http://www.efpfanfic.net/viewstory.php?sid=3621525&i=1)
> 
>  
> 
> Music plays a major role in this fanfic! So I recommend the songs mentioned in it! Including the chapter titles (which might give you an idea of what will happen)  
> Warning: English is not my first language, so you may find some typos or grammatical mistakes.  
> 
> 
> You can find a playlist based on this fic [here! ](http://8tracks.com/thesmophorias/i-can-t-help-falling-in-love-with-you-1)  
> 
> 
> Enjoy! :D

"Sherlock, dear, time to wake up". He heard a loud knock on his door.

"MRS HUDSON!" He threw the pillow right next to him to the door, still closed.

"No, no, don't _Mrs Hudson_ me darling!. It's the first day of your last year! You can't be late!"

He realized there was nothing he could do against it. He had to wake up. Time to go back to reality...

"Dear... I'm not going to leave this door until you open it and assure me that you're awake!"

He knew it was true. He rushed to the door, yawning. He opened it looking half-sleep. Mrs Hudson saluted him with a huge smile in her face. "Good Morning, darling! How are you feeling today? First day, last year, isn't it exciting?"

Sherlock frowned, "what is exciting about me being forced into a new school, getting good grades and having to behave?"

"Oh Sherlock, don't look at it like that. Think of it as a new chance of starting over, of leaving all those problems behind and getting new friends!"

"Friends... Dull."

"Fine, then don't make friends, but do get ready soon! The school bus will be passing at eight!"

"Remind me this: why do I have to take the bus to go to school? That means I have to be with... _People_."

"Because your mother and father will never let you put your feet inside a driver's seat again, Sherlock. And if you had some respect, you shouldn't let yourself either."

"I would appreciate it if you didn't remind me that damn accident every time!"

"I won't, but start getting ready now!"

"Fine, fine! I will!" He hissed as he closed the door and got ready. Actually he didn't, he just put on his jeans, his white t-shirt and his black-leather jacket he loved so much. He tried to do his hair with some gel, and that was all he needed.

He went out of his house and lit up a cigarette while he walked down to the bus stop. Finally, after waiting for a long time, the bus stopped and he got in. There was so much noise and people were so boring, girls could do nothing but talk about how Elvis had moved his hips last night, or the next movie with Brigitte Bardot in it, or the boy from that movie, the one with the red jacket, who had recently died, what was his name? James... Something. It was all so dull to Sherlock.

After a trip that seemed endless, he finally arrived to school. His new school. Dull. As soon as he left the bus he took out another cigarette and lit it, it helped with his anxiety, the smoke washed the frustrations away. Almost immediately after he lit it, somebody touched his shoulder. He turned to see who had done that, and saw an old man with a very serious face, who instantly took Sherlock's cigarette out of his hand, threw it to the floor and smashed it with his feet.

"You must be the new boy."

"You must have a degree."

The man ignored Sherlock's attitude and kept talking, a very serious look on his face. "Clearly you are not familiar with the rules of this school."

"Clearly you haven't showed them to me."

"Smoking is forbidden within this area. Absolutely forbidden. Do that again and you will be punished. Understood?"

He nodded, looking at the floor. As soon as the man left, he looked up and felt a rush of pain and anger. He hated school, he didn't want to go back to that hell.

His first class of the day was World History. He entered to the building and left out a deep breath. "First day in prison."

\----------------

"Johnny, time to wake up!"

Well, John had been awake for a long time. He always got up early on the first day of school, probably it was anxiety. Holidays seemed longer than usual and he missed his classes, now it was last year and he was going to make good use of it. There was so much to learn this year, and then university. He had no idea what to do yet, he had a whole year to find it out.

"I'm up, mommy! Don't worry!"

She went upstairs and opened the door of John's bedroom, the bed was made, the bedroom already tidy and clean. "Great sweetheart, now finish getting ready and go to the dining room, I just baked you some pie, I'll call Harriet!"

About an hour later, it was time to go. John was driving this time. It was the first time he was taking their car to school, it was his little treasure. It took him five summer jobs and two years of begging to his parents, plus a driver license to finally being able to buy his first car: a Chevy Bel-Air 1954, red and white, beautiful.

He always took Harry with him but asked her not to use the radio. This time he gave up insisting so Harry turned on the radio. "Buddy Holly!" She shouted happily as she turned up the volume.

"Oh come on Harry, listen to some real music!"

"That's what I'm telling you!"

"Come on, you can't be telling me you prefer listening to this... Noise than listening to Beethoven or Bach!"

Harry kicked back. "Square."

"How did you just call me?"

She turned to face him and carefully pronounced the word again. "Square."

"I am not! I am NOT a square Harry!"

"Enjoy Buddy Holly then!"

"Fine, _fine_ you know what? Listen to whoever you want!"

For the rest of the way they didn't talk at all. And Buddy Holly played louder than ever. And John decided he didn't like him at all.

After a twenty minutes ride, they arrived to the High School. As soon as he parked, Harry got off. "Clara! Hi!"

John rolled his eyes, he definitely knew what was going on with this Clara girl, but he never dared to mention the subject to his sister, because he knew it was a... Delicate topic. As soon as he fixed his eyes on the building, he felt a pinch of excitement, his _last_ year. God. He was going to miss this.

He took out his books. One of history, which was his first class of the day, the other one from biology, which was his favorite subject, and the other one was of chemistry, he was thinking of joining the club this year.

"Woah! Careful with the glasses! Do you need help with those, buddy?"

He looked over the books and smiled, passing one of them to his friend, standing in front of him. "Mike! Hello! How were your vacations?"

"Good, I mean, okay, I missed school a lot. What about you? God! Your car! It looks fantastic!" He shouted happily turning his eyes to the red and white machine John was gladly showing.

"Yes, yes. Finally. It was our birthday present, for both me and Harry, but that day she escaped and left to a party and drank too much and... Well, she had a race and crashed our car with another one. I don't know what happened to the person she crashed with, I just remember a phone call and ambulances and Harry was fine but the other wasn't and now I'm the only one allowed to drive."

"Oh, I'm sorry, John. But hey, at least you get to drive it!"

"Yes, yes." John felt some bitterness remembering the events that had taken place at the beginning of summer. He let out a small smile and they made their way to the door.

As soon as they walked in, John smiled, and looked at Mike, taking a deep breath and smiling widely. "Oh yes, first day of school!"

\---------------------

"So, what is your first class today?"

"History. You?"

"English! Oh, so, I guess I'll see you at lunch." Then Mike turned to say hello quickly to his other friends before turning again to John, still holding his friend's biology book. "Oh, come on, I'll help you take the books to the locker."

"No, it's okay, I can handle it by myself."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, yes, you have a lot to catch up with your friends."

"Hey, you're welcome to join, buddy."

"No, no, it's okay, really. I'll go and take these ones to the locker and look for the classroom so I don't get late!"

"Alright then, but I'll see you in lunch!"

"Sure, sure! Bye."

He really couldn't care less about lunch, but Mike invited him to his table and it was fine. Except for Mike, he didn't have any other friends, he wasn't very good at socializing, and the few people he barely talked to, it was because he had met them through his sister. To be honest, he didn't really feel the need to have friends, he had books, and that was all he needed.

He was walking with the books, barely looking at the path, when he felt his walk stopped suddenly because he had hit something. Or someone. He lowered the books and saw a taller young man he had never seen before. His hair messy, his jeans, his white t-shirt, and his black leather jacket. Great, just what this school needed. Another greaser. The boy looked at him with a frown. "Mm... Sorry."

He kept his eyes fixed on the smaller boy. "Yes, you should be."  
"It's just that I was holding these books and I couldn't see... So."

"Next time cast an eyeball, nerd, or you'll get a punch in the face. Understood?"

As soon as he said that, three men who were also wearing those jackets looked at him, then looked at each other and smiled, one of them came close to the scene and looked at the greaser who was standing in front of John, kicking him in the arm, with a huge smile on his face. "Heeey! You must be the new one! Well done you! I'm Jim and this is my...gang. Wanna join?"

Sherlock frowned, "why?"

Jim looked at him up and down. "Because everybody wants to hang out with us."

"Do I?"

Jim leaned closer and kept his eyes fixed on the greaser. "Oh yes, of course you do, if you want to be _someone_ in this school."

Sherlock relaxed his face a bit and smiled. "Righto."

"Good, we have lunch on the biggest table, see you there. Clear?"

"Clear."

As soon as they left, Sherlock turned his face to look at the small boy, still holding his books and looking confused at him. "What are you looking at, nerd?"

John didn't answer, he just frowned. Sherlock pushed him aside and left.

John rolled his eyes, making his way to the locker and trying to erase the anger that was rising. "Typical."

\------------------

It was almost nine when John entered to the classroom. He took one of the first seats and looked at the people he was sharing the class with, they were all the same, and talked about things John didn't understand, apparently all of them were into that Rock n' roll and dear lord what was happening with society? Where was Bach? What about Mozart? Apparently Buddy Holly and Elvis were better. Sure.

The teacher arrived. A man in his fifties, definitely. So he had been born before the First World War! He taught history because he _lived_ that history! The man saluted seriously, looking at the half-full classroom. "I'll give some time for the rest of the people to arrive but I'll start by telling you that in this class you are punctual or you are gone. It starts at 9. Not one minute later. If you arrive later, please abstain from entering. Clear?" They nodded.

Then the man proceeded to reorganize the desks. Students were forced to sit in a spot they couldn't leave for the rest of the year, and while everybody frowned, for John it was okay, as long as he didn't have to sit too far from the chalkboard. He didn't. He was placed in the third row.

John took out his pad and started writing on it, so he wouldn't forget anything. He wrote the teacher's name and the general rules of the class, just in case. About ten minutes later, there was a knock on the already closed door. The teacher, who stopped talking and frowned, went to open it. "Sorry sir, I got lost."

"Oh, you must be the new one, Holmes, right?"

"Yes, sir. I'm very sorry, I'm not used to being late."

"It's okay Holmes, but don't let this happen again. Come on, take a seat, you'll be behind Watson."

As soon as he heard his last name, John turned his face up from the pad and looked at the man passing by his side, who gave a loud breath and walked forcedly towards the desk. He answered the greaser's reaction by rolling his eyes, also showing his displeasure.

He sat pushing John's desk. John felt a lot of anger towards this guy, it had been an accident, he didn't mean to crash with him, anyway it had been his fault too because he wasn't looking his path! Then why was he the only one who apologized? God, he really didn't like this new greaser.

\------------------

During lunch John did hang out with Mike and his group of friends. They were nice and they talked to him, but he didn't feel right, he just felt like he didn't fit in at all, and he hated that. He wanted to feel like part of the group, but he simply couldn't. He assumed that it was just his personality, the way he was, and he could do nothing to change it, so as lunch passed by, John counted the minutes till he could go join the chemistry club, not that he was a fan of it, but he was starting to consider being a doctor as a possibility and he had to know some chemistry if he wanted to do right at college.

That was what he was thinking about until he saw that greaser passing by. Predictably, he took his lunch tray and sat right next to Jim, Sebastian and Greg, who were laughing like idiots. John always hated them, but never paid any attention to them, that until this Holmes arrived, now he despised both the boy and the group. He stood looking at them, thinking about how angry he was.

"John, what are you looking at?"

He reacted and turned to face his friend Mike, who was certainly looking at him with some concern in his face. "What?...no... Nothing, it's just that I hate him." He said as he turned his head to point with it at Holmes, who wasn't eating nor talking and honestly, it seemed like he wasn't paying attention to anything the other boys were talking about.

"Who? The new one? Do you know him?"

"Well, I met him this morning, and the man is an idiot! I think he finally found a place where he belongs! With that gang of brainless people!"

"Come on John, you just met him, perhaps he was having a bad day, that's all." Mike said with a smile, John didn't understand why his friend was defending that boy.

"No no no, I'm telling you. He is so rude and annoying and... Ugh. I don't want to talk about it. I'd better go to chemistry club. It seems about time." He said standing up.

"Oh, so you're joining?"

"Yeah, are you?"

"No, not really, I don't fancy staying until late at school."

"Well, that's exactly what I need to be honest". And he was being honest, he never got along well with his sister and sometimes she just left and arrived drunk next morning, he loved his mother, but even though she had the perfect suburban life, with a loving husband and children to take care of, he could absolutely tell she wasn't happy, she was never happy. He didn't enjoy being at home, so being at school seemed like the only logical solution.

After a long time without talking he looked at Mike and smiled. "So... I'd better be off."

Sherlock saw the boy passing by and sighed loudly as the rest of the gang turned their faces to look at John. Jim looked at the greaser with a smile. "So...John Watson. Nice choice of someone to annoy!"

As John left the cafeteria, Sherlock turned to look at his... Friends. "Who?"

"John Watson, that's his name. The poor virgin nerd. He cares about grades more than about dolls. Actually, I don't think he cares about dolls at all."

Uncomfortable topic for Sherlock, so he saved himself from comments. "I imagine he must be a good student."

"Yes, he is, actually I don't understand why we hadn't messed with him before, he should now."

Sherlock frowned. "Why?"

"why what?"

"Why would you pick on him if he is a good student and doesn't do any harm to anyone?"

Jim sat up straight, his expression turning more serious. "You brought him to us, Sherlock. So why did _you_ pick on him on he first place?"

"Because he was an idiot and wasn't paying attention to the path so he crashed with me and hit me with the books."

"So there's your reason."

"But it was with me, not with you."

"First thing you should learn about our gang: if you mess with one of us, you mess with all of us."

Sherlock smiled and nodded.

\----------------------

John really enjoyed his first day at chemistry club, and even though he wasn't very fond of chemistry he found it easy to understand and enjoyable. He also made a friend, a _friend_ , which was the most surprising turn of events. Her name was Molly Hooper. She was really nice and smart and John enjoyed talking to her.

It was past five when John left school, since Harry wasn't able to drive, Clara used to take her everywhere, and John enjoyed those moments of solitude when it was just him and his Chevy, driving over the fields. Although it was a very short ride, he enjoyed it, he really did.

When he arrived home, there was no one there. His mom was probably at the house of one of her friends playing bridge, which was her only moment of fun and joy she could have. His father was working, and Harry, of course, with Clara. He sighed and went to his bedroom, he was right when he told Mike that he didn't want to go home, because it was boring, lonely, cold. And it never felt like _home_.

He sat in the edge of his bed, he was very tired. He opened his bags and took out his biology book, just because he enjoyed reading it. As soon as he saw the books, the memory of what had happened before came back, and he remembered Sherlock, threatening him, pushing him and annoying him, and it had only been a day! , John took a deep breath, asshole. "God, I hate him, I hate that guy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart made by [hidinginthemagiclibrary](http://hidinginthemagiclibrary.tumblr.com) thank you so much! :3


	2. That's when your heartaches begin.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh John, the fate has weird ways of presenting itself!"

It was Thursday morning and Sherlock was already wanting to quit school completely, but he forced himself not to, he had caused his parents enough problems, so he decided he was going to end this year. After all, it was the last one, and then he would be free. But his determination seemed to fade away when his clock sounded loudly at 7 and Mrs Hudson arrived to wake him up.

He hated that new high school, he hated his... Friends and he hated taking the bus. That gang he was spending time with was starting to get annoying, and he missed being alone. Now he couldn't be by his own a minute without a girl coming to talk to him or one of the boys talking about the dolls he bang. It was all so dull.

Although he had to admit his... Friends made good deals. They got him the latest album of Bill Haley & His Comets at a very good price, not to say illegal, but that wasn't important. He got up, took his record player, and _Rock around the clock_ started playing. And things got better. Although he despised lots of things, Rock n' Roll wasn't one of them.

Again, as the previous three days, he had to get ready quickly so he wouldn't miss the bus, because if he missed it, he had to walk, and if there was something worse than having to take the bus to school it was having to walk to school.

When he was in the bus a girl sat by his side. She was about a year younger, with light brown hair, wearing a polka dot dress and a left-sided pony tail. He looked at her as if she had lost her mind. She smiled shyly and muttered a barely hearable "hi." Sherlock turned his head to face the window, because that was better than having a small talk with a girl. She didn't give up. "... So you are the new one, what brought you here?"

He rolled his eyes, annoyed and turned to face her again, "please don't feel forced to start a conversation, you are terrible at it."

She smiled, some confusion drawing in her face. She didn't know whether he was joking or not. Yet, she didn't give up. "I'm Molly, Molly Hooper."

Sherlock didn't want to answer, but he felt bad for the girl, he knew it was taking her a lot of effort to pull through the conversation. He kept expressionless. "Sherlock Holmes." He muttered.

She smiled wider. "Well, hello, it's nice to meet you, Sherlock Holmes."

He hummed and turned towards the window again. Molly felt uncomfortable, but since he had told her his name, she thought it was worth a try. "So, which classes do you have today?"

Sherlock didn't turn and barely answered. "History, English and chemistry."

"Oh, do you like chemistry?"

He turned to look at her, this time far much more annoyed than last time. "Are you writing a book?"

She shut her mouth and looked down, embarrassed. Sherlock felt bad for her. Actually, he felt worse for feeling bad for her. "...yes, I like chemistry."

She looked up again and smiled. "Oh, that's great! I'm actually the leader of the chemistry club and umm... I was wondering... If you'd like to join the club, we still have the admissions open, in case you want to, but you don't have to..."

"I know I don't have to."

"Of course you don't have to, but I mean, if you want, you're welcome to join. We gather today and every Monday afternoon."

Sherlock hesitated, then looked at the girl, who kept her eyes fixed on him in a way that made him feel uncomfortable. "Umm, thank you? I'll think about it."

"Good, good. Let me know. Or not."

Then an awkward silence fell. And all he wanted was to get out of that bus and light a cigarette but damn it! He couldn't smoke in school!

Finally, the bus arrived. Molly smiled at Sherlock and said sweetly. "Bye, Sherlock, it was a pleasure meeting you!"

Sherlock hummed and moved two of his fingers to wave her goodbye, she giggled and left. He looked at her again as if she had lost her mind. Probably she had.

\----------------

When John arrived to history Sherlock was already there, sitting (more like stretched) with his feet over John's desk. When John entered he looked at the greaser with incredulity, as the other boy ignored him. Finally, after standing in front of his -occupied by Sherlock's feet- desk, for about a minute without getting a response he decided to talk.

"Umm... Hello?" John said raising his voice, his eyes fixed on the greaser.

Sherlock turned to look at him and frowned. "What do you want, nerd?"

" _That_ is my spot!" He said pointing at his desk.

"Which one?" Sherlock hesitated.

"The one with your feet on top!" He affirmed, waving his hands at the air.

"Oh, you sit here? Apologies, I thought you sat right next to the teacher's side, you know to be his... _Secretary_."

John smiled, but that kind of smile which does not come out when he was happy, it was a smile of utter and absolute anger. "His _what_?"

"Watson!" He heard a shout as the teacher entered to the classroom and closed the door. Then he looked around, everybody was sitting and he was the only one standing and he was facing Holmes, still feeling his face red with anger. He turned to look at the old man. "Take your seat now!" The teacher shouted seriously.

"But, teacher! Holmes is..." He turned again to look at his desk, but Sherlock's feet were no longer there, so there was nothing to be said. The greaser smiled at John's reaction.

"Is what, Watson?"

John sighed. "Nothing, sir. My apologies."

"Fine, don't let it happen again, alright?"

"Sure." As he sat, he heard Sherlock giggling in his back, he resisted the temptation to kick him in the face. There was something John couldn't accept, and that was getting his reputation affected in front of the teachers, and Holmes had crossed the line this time. John thought he had never disliked someone the way he disliked Sherlock.

He tried to focus and to forget the events.

The teacher dedicated the last couple minutes to explain the first-term final project. John snatched in his pad: _deliver proposal of essay in two weeks (define topic of investigation, analyze it from a historical perspective, it can be any topic) it's in PAIRS (hopefully voluntary pairs). 2-3 pages. It's the 10% of the final grade._

"Since I know it's a long project, I would rather to let you choose your pair voluntarily. But I need you to do it now, since I need the couples already defined."

John stood up immediately and walked towards the teacher, who fixed his eyes on him and frowned. "Any problem, Watson?"

"Umm no, just a question, can I do the project by myself? It's just that I don't have anyone to work with and I think we have an uneven number of students in the class, so..."

The teacher counted, "32. It's an even number."

"Well, but I would like to be by myself."

"Watson, I have to review an approximate of 90 essays, counting the six courses in which I give class. Letting you work by yourself means that I now have to review 91. It's more work for you and for me. The answer is a no. Absolutely not."

John was still talking with the professor, trying to convince him to change his mind, when Sherlock passed by John, ignoring him as he went to talk to the teacher. "Mr Hikes, I don't have a couple and I was wondering if I could do the work by myself."

The old man smiled and John felt terrified. "No, Holmes, you are not allowed to work on your own, but don't worry, Watson doesn't have someone to work with, so you'll do it together."

The greaser widened his eyes and turn to look at John, who in response shook his head and rolled his eyes. "WHAT?". Sherlock turned to look at the teacher again. "Sir, I enjoy working on my own, actually I hate working with somebody, anybody, so please, let me do this on my own."

The man shook his head and spoke to both Sherlock and John. "Sorry, as I told you the first class the rules are unchangeable. The first thing I said about the project is that it is in couples so there is absolutely no way I'm changing my mind. And Holmes, you better start liking working with somebody, because you'll have to get used to that."

Sherlock frowned and left, throwing a killing look the the teacher. John stood there silent and angry. _Sure, sure, of all the people in the class he had to pair me up with that idiot._ He sighed. There was nothing to be done.

\---------------------

As soon as Mike looked at John, at the cafeteria he realized something was wrong. "Aye, John, what happened? You are red!". And hell he was, he was so angry, it was unfair, just because he didn't have anyone to team up, why was he forced to do it with the greaser?

He looked at Mike, with a serious expression in his face. "I have to do my final project with that Holmes boy!"

Mike chuckled, and John felt his anger raising, what was so funny about it? "What are you laughing of?"

"Oh John, the fate has weird ways of presenting itself!"

_What?_ "The... Fate?"

"Yes, the more you hate him, the more destined you are to have to work with him. It's just the way it works, you know? There's nothing you can do about it."

"But God! I don't want to work with him!" John said as he looked hesitantly at his lunch, suddenly he had lost his appetite. "How am I supposed to work with him without ending with a black eye or a broken rib or a punch on the face?"

"Well, then you're going to have to show him that you are not the typical weak and pushover nerd!"

John frowned. Even though Mike's expression was serious now, he could see a small smile hiding in the corners of his lips, he supposed his situation was funny. "But how?"

"Leave very clear to him that _you_ are in charge of the work and that you are going to give ideas and work as a team but that you're _not_ going to end up doing the whole project by yourself!"

"Ugh Mike, I don't know, I think it would probably be the best to do it by myself. The man must not be very smart."

"You don't know about that, you might get a surprise!"

"Doubtful."

\--------------------------

After lunch, John went out of the cafeteria, in order to go to Chemistry Club. It was a five minutes walk from there and he hated being late for anything. He crossed around one of the corners of the school when he saw Sherlock, sitting in one of the chairs of the hallway alone and reading a book. _Alone? Well, that is surprising._ Now that he thought about it, it was weird, all of Jim's gang was at the cafeteria talking and having lunch but Sherlock wasn't and he was so pissed he hadn't realized. Actually, he hadn't been with them during lunch the past few days. _Troubles in paradise?_

He remembered what Mike had told him and the boy had a point. It was better to set the grounds clear and there was no better chance to do it than now, since the greaser was barely alone and his friends were absolute jerks not to mention they now were picking on John and this was all Sherlock's fault and all because some freaking books.

He came closer to the greaser, took a deep breath and tried, _really_ tried to pull a friendly face. It was the best thing he could do. Sherlock was incredibly focused, reading J.D. Salinger's _The Catcher in the Rye_ , which was one of John's favorite books, but he realized it was better to keep the conversation short and go straight to the point, so it wouldn't end up in a fight or something like that, which certainly, without a single doubt, John would lose.

He cleared his throat and shifted awkwardly and Sherlock looked up from his book, frowning. John didn't change his expression, and stood straight. "Hi."

"Yes. Can I help you with something?" Oh right, so now Sherlock didn't know him, of course he didn't, now he was acting as if they never met, and what now? Did John have to pretend like he didn't know Sherlock either? As if he wasn't the new popular boy who had made his week a complete hell?

"Oh come on, Holmes, stop it."

Sherlock looked at him puzzled. "Stop what?"

John moved his hands through the air, "All of this! _All of this!_... Look, like it or not, we have to work together and there's nothing I can do about it. So we better do it right."

Sherlock closed his book and stood up. He was taller, so much taller than John, and he felt so small in front of the greaser who looked so confident and secure of himself. "Alright, good."

_Oh well, this is going better than I expected._ Just as John thought that, Sherlock turned and walked off. "No- no wait! Where are you going?" John had to run a little to catch the boy, he took him by the arm and forced him to stop. So Sherlock did and turned to face John with an annoyed expression.

"Oh for God's sake, what else do you want, nerd? Wasn't this conversation over?" _Alright this wasn't as good as it seemed._

"No! I was just starting!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed loudly. John tried to compose himself and started talking again, lifting his chin up, so he wouldn't look so small, so weak, so vulnerable in front of the greaser. He took a deep breath. "...so what I was saying is that we should better start thinking about the project."

"I knew this would happen" Sherlock said looking at John, who frowned in confusion.

"That _what_ would happen?"

"That you would annoy me and put pressure on me and be behind my back forcing me to do the damn work for these two weeks which will end up being hell!" John felt anger rising. That kind of anger he only had when Sherlock opened his mouth.

"Look, all I want is to get a good grade!"

"You will get a good grade anyway, nerd." And he turned again to walk off, and John lost it. He was mad.

He grabbed Sherlock strongly by the shoulder to force him to turn to face him again and took him by the collar in his jacket, pulling him closer. The greaser kept his eyes fixed on John, frowning. "Listen, it is not a delight for me to work with you but it's what I have to do and I'll do it, alright? Now I want to leave something clear, just one thing: do NOT expect me to do the whole damn thing just because I am a nerd or whatever you call me. If you want this shit to work then you'll have to put something from your part. I was thinking we reunite next Monday to define the topic. And you _will_ be there, do you hear me? Are we clear on that?"

Suddenly surprised by John's determination, Sherlock nodded, without being aware of what he was nodding for, he wasn't really paying attention to what John was saying.

John loosened the grip of Sherlock's jacket. "Good."

He pulled himself together, ran a hand through his hair and fixed his glasses, which had moved from their usual place with John's burst of anger. "Now, I have to go. I have Chemistry Club. See you on Monday, right?"

Sherlock frowned and didn't say a word. "... Good. I'll take that as a yes. Goodbye." He turned and walked off.

Sherlock grabbed his book and left in the opposite direction from John, thinking, clearly surprised by the way the boy had reacted, that was definitely unexpected, all of this situation was unexpected, John Watson in general was unexpected.


	3. The Great Pretender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "See? We could be civilized!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm VERY sorry for not updating lately, I had been very busy but I'm back and I promise Chapter 4 will be up soon, enjoy! :3

It was Monday, two weeks after classes started and to be honest, John was already tired. The year had just started and he loved studying, but teachers were leaving lots of work, and along with Chemistry Club he felt like he didn't have time to do anything. Yet he wouldn't quit the Club. He is not the kind of person who quits.

Along with that, the environment in the school was not good. Up until this year, he had managed to keep a low profile, without disturbing anyone, without picking any fights, because he hated that kind of behavior. He didn't want to be _that_ kind of guy. But suddenly this Holmes came and his life turned into a mess. Greasers started picking on him and he didn't need to ask, he knew it was all because of Sherlock. He couldn't understand why or what he could have possibly done. He became the school's target.

And he felt lonely, more than ever. He had Mike and he was a nice friend and accepted him no matter what, but he really didn't trust him, he started feeling like he really needed to find someone to talk to, someone to express all his frustrations to, someone who would understand, someone who would accept. But he didn't have that. Not even his sister Harry would listen to him, she was too busy thinking about Clara for that. He really felt the need to find a friend. But how?, who?

He hated the fact that school was becoming a burden, and that place he used to love so much, and felt so happy in, was now turning into a nightmare.

  
History was his first class and that didn't help because he really didn't want to see Sherlock's face and now they had to work together and he was an idiot and John didn't know what to do anymore. Before entering to the classroom, he took a deep breath and prepared himself to face the boy. Yet, to his surprise, the Greaser ignored him completely, _completely_. He didn't look at him, he didn't have his feet on his chair and, during the rest of the class, he didn't disturb him at all, which was the most surprising bit.

The teacher finished the two hours-class (which sometimes passed so, so slowly that it seemed like they were five) reminding the students that next week they had to present the proposal for the final project, which at the time reminded John that he and Sherlock ought to meet that afternoon, to start working on the project, which could only make this day worse.

As soon as the bell rang everybody stood up and Sherlock did it so fast that John didn't even have time to remind him of their meeting. But he had to, because otherwise, the greaser wouldn't show up. So he grabbed his backpack and rushed towards the door. When he reached the hallway, he saw Sherlock in front of the lockers, and all of his friends were there: Jim, Sebastian and Greg. John frowned and stopped before coming too close to their space.

As soon as Jim saw Sherlock, a big smile drew on his face. "Yo, Holmes! How was History?"

"Terrible, as usual." Sherlock said as he stared his friends in an incredibly serious gaze, which later turned into a confused one, when they all laughed. He wasn't telling a joke. It was true. History was a torture for him. John looked at him from afar and smiled a bit.

He filled himself with courage and took a step forward. He moved towards the Greaser and his gang and took a deep breath, but as soon as they turned their eyes to him, he forgot what he was about to say, he felt terrified. Sherlock took a step forward. "What do you want, Watson?"

John cleared his throat and realized that Sherlock was waiting for a response, so he _had_ to give him one. "Hm, I need to talk to you."

The other Greasers looked at John surprised, then they laughed a bit, and Sherlock looked at him puzzled. "I hear you."

"In...private."

Sebastian gave a loud laughter looking at John. "Oh, Holmes, you better hurry. Your boyfriend is waiting for you."

Sherlock turned his head to face Sebastian and then, in a fast move, grabbed the boy by the collar of his leather jacket and pushed him against the locker with incredible strength. The Greaser's face was red with anger, and he was looking at the other boy with a killing gaze. "Shut. Up. Sebastian!" He shouted, clenching his teeth. "Next time you say something like that you'll regret it!" He said as he showed him his fists.

Sebastian moved his arms and relaxed his expression, still gasping under the greaser's hold, which didn't seem to loose but to tighten. "Wow bird, cool it! It was just a joke!"

Sherlock flinched, but loosened the hold of the jacket's collar, setting Sebastian free. As soon as he did, Jim turned to look at Sherlock, with an expression between marveled and surprised. Then, with a smile, he nodded at the boy. "Go ahead Holmes. You can talk to Johnny boy. Just be careful of not breaking his glasses."

Sherlock smiled (a very, very fake smile as far as John could see) and moved to the side to talk to John. The greaser had his eyes fixed on him, penetrating him. As soon as they were at some distance from his friends, Sherlock rolled his eyes and look at John irritatedly. "Yes?"

John tried to focus not on Sherlock's eyes nor voice but on the floor, so he decided to look down. "Hm. I just wanted to remind you that today we are meeting at lunch in order to plan the final project. We need to get the paper ready for next Monday so..."

Sherlock frowned. "Yes, I remembered."

"Alright, good. Just wanted to check that out."

"Anything else?"

"What? Oh yes, just one question, where are we meeting?"

Sherlock sighed and looked at the Greasers standing behind them, at a fair distance. He rolled his eyes at them and they laughed. John felt incredibly uncomfortable, and then the boy turned to face him, still looking irritated, as if talking to John was the most unfortunate thing in the world. "I think you know exactly where."

And then, without saying another word, Sherlock turned, looked at his friends and said with a smile: "Let's go. I would kill for a cigarette. I don't care if I get expelled." They laughed and left along with him.

John frowned, looking at them as they left, he was confused, how was he supposed to know where they would be meeting? He didn't know Sherlock Holmes at all. Then how could he figure it out? He really didn't have the slightest idea of what to make out of it. He decided it was better to wait for lunch to find it out.

\------------------

"So? What did Watson want?" Jim said looking at his cigarette and twisting it in his fingers as soon as they arrived to a small corner in the back of the building, right next to the grass. Teachers barely passed down there and Sherlock had to accept it was a very good place to smoke. Finally his...friends turned useful for something, even if that meant having to smoke and interact with them.

"Hmm?" Sherlock said sucking on his cigarette.

Jim certainly couldn't hide his curiosity. "I said that what did the nerd say?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He didn't feel like talking, he actually never did, but Sebastian and Greg were also looking at him expectantly and as he exhaled the smoke, he started talking.

"We were assigned this damn work for history in pairs." They laughed. Sherlock frowned because again it _wasn't_ funny and they were all a bunch of idiots but still, he kept talking. "So, the old man paired me up with the nerd and I have to work with him now. And, as you can imagine, he is a pain in the ass." He sucked again.

"Oh, and you're meeting, or something?" Jim said, holding onto his cigarette. And trying to look nonchalant.

"Yes, during lunch." Sherlock said rolling his eyes.

Greg turned to look at Sherlock. "By the way Holmes, where have you been all these past days during lunch? Man, we always save you a spot and you never arrive!"

Sherlock stood quiet for a moment. Then he looked at Greg and invented an excuse, anything better than _because you are freaking annoying and stupid and I don't like socializing with people so I prefer taking a chair and reading a book instead of hearing your dreadful conversations_. "... I catch up with the work and stuff." _Thinking it well, it was better saying the truth._

The three of them looked at him with a funny expression. Sebastian smiled. "What? _You_? So Sherlock Holmes prefers doing homework than catching up with his buddies! What a party pooper!"

 

Sherlock smiled awkwardly as the other laughed but again he thought it wasn't funny and all he wanted was to finish his cigarette as soon as possible so he could leave and stop wasting his time with those boys.

His...friends looked at him and laughed harder. Greg said "oh well, this project of yours is going to be fun."

"What could possibly be funny about it?"

Sebastian answered, still laughing. "No, no, not for you, for _us_." Jim's face was serious, skeptical and analytical, as if he felt something didn't quite fit, as if he knew something the others didn't. He didn't say another word. He just stood and finished his cigarette. They all stood in silence, sucking up.

Sherlock frowned as he stepped over his finished cigarette. Nice choice of... _friends, Holmes. Well done! Look at that you are popular now wow, look how happy you are!_ he felt he needed someone, a real friend in his life _, well that is a first._

\------------------

"I've got to go, Mike." John said standing up and putting his tray aside. He had eaten his lunch incredibly fast, and he was full, but he didn't like being late, even though he didn't even know where he was meeting Sherlock.

Mike looked at John confused, "oh, really? Why?"

"I have to meet with Sherlock in order to work in our project." John said with a resigned face, which earned a chuckle from Mike.

"Oh, John, did you at least tried to talk to him?"

"Yes, but he didn't understand any reason! It was a waste of time. Anyway, I have to go. See you later." He said leaving his chair.

Mike smiled. "Good luck with that, buddy."

"Thank you, I'll need it."

John walked off from the cafeteria and unconsciously, he took the same path he always took to go to Chemistry Club, and just as he turned one of the corners, he found the greaser, seating in the same chair as the day before, reading the same book, and incredibly focused. In the moment he saw John he exhaled loudly and closed the book. John tried to pull a little (but fake) smile and told himself to be patient.

He stood in front of him and the greaser looked up and rolled his eyes. "Yes, I know, I know." The boy really had a lousy attitude.

"Can I sit?"

Sherlock didn't answer, he just moved a little as John sat by his side. Then, as soon as he was seated, the greaser opened the book again and continued reading without paying any attention to John.

John sighed. "Sh... Sherlock!"

"What?!"

"We have to do this damn work and it's due for next Monday and are three pages! In typewriter! And we don't even have a topic! So if I were you I would stop having that attitude and start working! You don't have to talk to me, you don't even have to look at me, but for God's sake, do some work!"

Sherlock closed the book. " _Fine_."

_Finally we are going somewhere._

"Alright" John said sitting up straight. "Which topic would you like to analyze?"

Sherlock looked down and shrugged. "I don't know."

"Well, think of something." John had reminded himself again to be patient, but God, it was hard being patient with this boy.

Sherlock turned to look at John. "I don't know. I hate history!"

John breathed loudly. "I don't like it either, but we have to choose a topic!"

"I really don't know Watson! Why are you putting all the responsibility on me?"

"Come on! I'm literally just asking you to choose a topic!"

"A topic in which we are going to base all our semester of work in History! So yes! It's a damn big responsibility."

"Fine, I'll choose it too, but could you please hurry? I have to go to Chemistry Club!"

Sherlock said lowly "Nerd."

John felt a pinch of anger in his head, he was turning red, he breathed and told himself again to be patient. "I'm not here to talk about me, okay? So I would appreciate if you saved your insults for later."

Sherlock stood silent for a moment and, without looking up, his eyes fixed on that book again, he said in a very very low voice which came almost like a whisper: "...What about chemistry?"

But John heard it, and frowned at the greaser, who still didn't look at him, confused. "Chemistry?"

Sherlock nodded.

"You want to make the project about chemistry?"

Sherlock kept his eyes fixed on the book. "I like chemistry."

" _You_? You _like_ chemistry?"

Sherlock closed his book and looked at John again. "I'm starting to think that even though you are such a nerd, you are not very smart, because I just told you that I do, I don't find any need to repeat it."

John didn't feel offended, he actually found it slightly funny. A small smile drew on his face but he shook it away. "Fine, fine, we'll do it about the history of chemistry, what do you say? It's not that long, and it's a topic we like..."

Sherlock hummed.

"Alright, good, I like that topic. See? We could be civilized."

The greaser stood up, taking his book with him. "Whatever, nerd."

John shrugged, and then he stood up, "hey, wait! When are we doing the paper? I don't have a typewriter..."

"I have one." And Sherlock immediately regretted what he said. He didn't know why he had said it, but he did and there was nothing he could do about it.

John nodded carefully, scared of what the greaser might say. "Oh, okay. So can we ...go to your house, someday within this week and do that?" He was nervous, he might have ended up beaten up for this, but the greaser didn't react violently, he just looked at John.

"Oh, now _you_ want to go to my house?" Sherlock said sarcastically.

"Shut up Holmes! I just need a typewriter! Even if that means making deals with the devil!"

And Sherlock smiled, a quick rise of his mouth, and John could see it, and he realized that was the first time he saw the greaser smiling for real, not faking it. This one was genuine, he tried to smile back but he couldn't so they just stood silent for a moment. An awkward moment.

"Fine. But I can't drive so... We gotta go in your machine."

"No problem."

Then John frowned and looked at Sherlock, surprised. The greaser sighed. "What?"

"You can't drive?"

Sherlock's expression turned even more serious. "We're not here to talk about me, Watson."

"Yes, yes sorry. Yes, okay. So when can you go?"

Sherlock thought for a moment. "Hm... I don't know. Call a day."

"...Friday?"

"Are you flip? I'm not going to spend my Friday night doing a work with you!"

"Fair enough."

"Thursday?"

"Chemistry Club."

"I really don't see it possible any other day. So I think you'll have to miss a day of your precious club."

John's face brightened, as if he just had the brightest idea ever. "What if you come with me?"

From Sherlock's reaction, he realized it probably wasn't the brightest idea ever. The greaser widened his eyes, and with an alerted expression said, loudly and blunt. "WHAT?"

"No? Okay, just suggesting, I thought we could ask Molly if she could recommend us some books or some chemists to look at..."

"I am NOT going to Chemistry Club!" He said rising his voice.

"Fine, it's okay. I'll ask her myself. No problem. But the club meeting is over up until four."

Sherlock relaxed a bit and, while looking serious, his voice tone was not as threatening as it had been. "I'll wait."

And this time John couldn't help to hide his confusion.

"...it's not like I have another choice."

John cleared his throat. "Okay, okay. Sure, I'll try not to take too much time."

"You better don't, Watson." Sherlock said with that threatening tone again, which sent a shiver all over John's body. As if it really meant he better didn't.

"O...okay, so I'll better be off to the club. See you later."

Sherlock was already leaving. "Righto."

And then he was gone, and John thought that was probably the most confusing moment ever. Sherlock in fact turned out to be somehow different. And he smiled. At least he didn't get a punch in the face, so their meeting did go well after all. And they had a topic. And he liked Chemistry, well he was definitely not the typical greaser. And the boy had smiled, a genuine, 100% smile. And John smiled wider. _He's not so bad a person after all..._


	4. Guess Things Happen This Way

The following days had passed incredibly fast, and when John realized it already was Thursday and oh god it was Thursday! 

"Mom?" He said from his room upstairs.

"Yes, dear?" His mother replied from the kitchen.

John cleared his throat. "I'm going to arrive late tonight."

"How late, John?"

"I don't know, hopefully not too much!"

"Why?"

"Oh, there's a work on couples... A project, a history project. And we're going to do it today, because it's due for Monday."

"Alright then, sweetheart. Just arrive before your father does, please. You know how much it upsets him."

"I'll try mother, I swear I'll try."

And just as they finished their conversation, his sister was standing in the door, looking at him with a suspicious look. "What do you want, Harry?"

"Who paired up with you? I mean who would have _wanted_ to pair up with you? They must be bananas!"

John answered without hesitation. "Sherlock is my pair."

Harry's eyes widened and her jaw dropped, then she chuckled. "The new boy? Sherlock? Sherlock Holmes? You can't be possibly saying that that bird chose you!"

John could have lied so easily, leave his sister surprised, he wished he would have said, _yes, he chose me_ , but he couldn't. "No I'm not. The teacher forced him to work with me."

Harry broke into laughter. "Oh my God! John you are such a loser!"

John looked at her with a frown. He was used to that, to his sister being that way, so he didn't feel offended, he just knew that was how Harry was. "Oh come on Harry, don't get started with that. "

She smiled. "Sorry bro, but you really, _really_ need to get some friends."

John shrugged and look resigned. "And I will have them, someday, probably. Possibly."

Harry looked at him with wide eyes. "Fine, I really hope you do, but I'm just sayin' so you don't be forced again to work with those boys."

"Hopefully I won't have to."

"Seriously John, stay as far as you can from them. I mean it."

Harry looked at him very seriously now, which was something weird in her because she was so relaxed, and he got worried, it _did_ sound like a real warning. And he wondered why? What could she possibly mean with that? It was better not asking, right? He shook away the thoughts and gave her a smile of assurance. "Don't worry Harry, I don't have any plans on being friends with that people."

She smiled, face relaxing a bit. "Good, I'm glad you understand. Now off we go, but let me turn the radio today, okay?"

"Fine, but not so loud."

She sighed. "Sometimes I wonder how I manage to deal with being your sister."

He smiled, "I think everybody wonders that once in a while."

\--------------------

"Watson"

John turned and Sherlock was behind him, eyes fixed on him. Not smiling, but not exactly serious, a bit less defensive, more open. "...Yes?"

John didn't smile either, but he tried to be friendly, he always tried to be friendly with him, because otherwise it would probably end up in a fight. "I just wanted to confirm to know if I have to wait for you and your precious club." He said contemptuously. 

John sighed, every time he thought he was making an improvement with Sherlock, things went backwards again and he was starting to get tired of it. Yet he had to be friendly. "Yes. I mean, if you want to..."

Sherlock cut him off. "It's not that I want to, but I don't have any other choice, right?"

"Right. Sorry. I'm not exactly thrilled, with the idea either."

Sherlock looked down, ignoring John's eyes, which looked so penetrating, so big, so _blue._ He said quietly. "...but we can make it work."

John almost, _almost_ flashed a smile. "Of course we can, of course."

Sherlock looked up again, seeing the boy in front of him. "Good, because we better get a good grade in this. I need it."

"We all do, Sherlock."

Sherlock's expression turned more serious and threatening as he spoke. "It's Holmes for you, Watson. I've never called you John."

"I didn't even know you knew my first name, so if you want to call me John, it's fine. It's all fine."

"I'll stick with Watson or nerd. Those are more suitable for you." Sherlock said nonchalantly.

And in that moment, the old man arrived to class, two minutes late, which was very weird coming from him. John sat immediately and, surprisingly, Sherlock didn't bother him at all. Now they had to do that damn job and they were going to do it so good the rest of the work pairs would be jealous of them. _Of course we can make it work._

The rest of the class and of the day of school seemed endless for John, who at lunch time was already incredibly tired and wanted to do anything but go to Sherlock's house. He didn't want to know anything about history , nor about chemistry, nor about the greaser.

Definitely not the greaser.

When it was time to go to the club, he found Sherlock in that chair he always used, reading again, incredibly focused, but he was now holding another book, it was Ray Bradbury's _Fahrenheit 451_. Damn, another book John loved. He looked at the greaser as he passed by, waiting for a salute or for Sherlock to say anything, but he didn't even look up. John sighed and kept walking.

\-------------------

"WATSON, WHAT IS YOUR DAMN PROBLEM! SHIT I'M TIRED OF WAITING!" Sherlock entered to the chemistry club classroom, opening the door abruptly and interrupting Molly, who was talking to John and blushed immediately. He looked at Sherlock surprised.

"What is _your_ damn problem, Holmes?" John said rising his voice and coming closer to Sherlock, who was standing next to the door. The rest of the classroom looked a the greaser, stunned by having one of those guys at their classroom. 

Sherlock didn't lowered his voice tone. "I'M BORED!" He said moving the hands in the air. 

"I told you that I was leaving at 4! It's 3:10! Can't you be a little patient? God you don't have to kick the door and make a scandal!" John tried to lower his voice once he found how embarrassing this situation was.

"I got tired of waiting." Sherlock said recomposing a bit. Probably he realized it was an unnecessary scene.

"But you _have_ to wait!"

Sherlock frowned, rising his voice. "No, I don't!"

"Well don't wait for me then, but you do the work! Good luck with that." Saying that, John turned his back to Sherlock, who frowned, and went back to his desk. Molly was still standing in front of the dashboard, motionless.

"Get out, Watson." Sherlock said calmly. Dangerously calmed.

"No." John said, crossing his arms over the table. "I'm not leaving."

"Watson. Get. Out." Sherlock said emphatically and John felt scared. Of course, Sherlock was going to kick the shit out of him. So he was not leaving. No.

"I said that I'm not leaving until the damn session is over!"

Sherlock was about to answer when, in that moment, one of the guys of the club stood up and looked at them, frowning and clearly upset. "Could you _please_ stop interrupting and let us continue? Thank you."

But John sat still. Molly reacted and went to John's desk while Sherlock stood impatiently at the door. She leaned closer to him and whispered. "I really think you should better be off, John. If you need anything else just tell me, okay?"

John hesitated. "But... Molly! I want to stay!"

"Then tell...Sherlock to stop interrupting us and that if he is so bored he can join." She said looking at the greaser who was no longer looking at John, but at the floor, tapping his feet to the ground.  _Anxiety._ John thought.

"I think I'd better should be off." John said with a serious expression, taking his bag and getting up the desk.

Sherlock smirked, knowing he had won this time. John rolled his eyes and a shiver passed down his body, because Sherlock was angry and he was rude and he was going to kick his ass. Not a difficult assumption to make. "Let's go, nerd."

John sighed, and looking at the rest of the class, closed the door and left.

On their way out, John didn't say a word, because he _knew._ He knew Holmes was taking him to a hidden place where he would beat him. Sherlock walked a few steps ahead of him, in a fast pace without looking back. They arrived to a small corner in the back of the building and John was waiting for the punch, and as they stopped he closed his eyes. And waited. Nothing came.

"I'm starting to believe you seriously have a problem, Watson." Sherlock said at last, sucking on his cigarette, taking a deep, long suck.

Then John opened his eyes as soon as he smelled the smoke. _Shit he is not going to punch me, he is going to burn me!_ And now he was terrified. But nothing came. 

Sherlock finished the cigarette incredibly fast and threw it to the grass, stepping on it, while John looked at him on a mix of surprise/ confusion/nervousness. "Fine, let's go, nerd."

John stood there, incapable of articulating a word. Sherlock looked at him impatiently, sighing and rolling his eyes. "What? What are you thinking about? Let's go! The sooner the better Watson!"

Finally he reacted, while Sherlock looked at him, frowning. "...sure. Off we go."

\----------------------

"Wow." Sherlock said, standing in front of John's Chevy, observing it up and down, left to right. "That's what I call a rocket." He couldn't even hide his face of surprise and amazement.

John smiled. "Thanks."

And Sherlock was dying to drive it. He hadn't been in a car since... The accident and he forgot how much he loved driving. He put himself together and bit his lower lip, as he opened the companion's door and John entered on the driver's one. 

"Well?" John said, turning to face Sherlock, who was looking at the car dazzled. The greaser reacted and turned to look at him, this time defiantly, putting on the mask he seemed to have dropped before.

"Well what?"

"... I don't know where your house is."

"Oh..." Sherlock said, frowning. "Just get out of the school by now, I'll guide you." 

"Right." John said, starting the car.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Can I turn the radio on?"

"What?"

"That if I can turn the radio on, Watson."

John stopped looking at the path and turned to face the greaser. "Oh. Yes, I suppose. But not too loud."

Sherlock scoffed. "Don't be idiot Watson, if it's not loud, it's not worth it." He said turning the volume up and John felt uncomfortable, since he couldn't be so focused when the music was so loud, and _oh god that music._ He must have seen it coming.

"What is that noise, after all?" John said rising his voice.

Sherlock looked at John seriously. "It's not noise nerd! It's a song, a damn good song!"

"Which song is it, then?"

"Heartbreak Hotel." Sherlock said while he mumbled the lyrics of the song, something John found very funny.

"Heartbreak what?"

_Well, I'm so lonely, I get so lonely, I could die._ John heard Sherlock singing lowly. He turned to look at the boy and he stopped singing immediately, to answer John's question. "Heartbreak Hotel. Elvis."

"Elvis?"

Sherlock looked at John incredulously. _He can't be serious._ "Presley, Watson. Presley."

John nodded, "Oh, right. I think I've heard Harry talking about him. Is he black?" 

Sherlock scoffed and looked at John accusingly. "Do you live under a rock? Or you are just _that_ stupid?"

John didn't feel offended, he had the right of not knowing who this Presley was. He didn't change his expression and kept his eyes on the road. "I guess I am _that_ stupid, Holmes."

Sherlock sighed. "Well, you should know who he is _square_ , 'cause he is unreal!" Sherlock said excitedly before sighing loudly and rising his voice. "For God's sake Watson! Could you drive any slower? Come on! Lay a patch!" He said sarcastically.

"Hey! You should be grateful I'm driving with all that noise!"

"I told you! It isn't _noise!_ "

"It is to me! And it is _my_ car so I drive as fast as I want to. Clear?"

Sherlock sighed and turned to look at the window, pulling the glass completely down, and the wind was high but it was warm and it was comfortable. _And you will be, you will be, you'll be so lonely, you'll be so lonely you could die._ He heard the greaser singing for the rest of the trip, only stopping to give John some indications as where to turn or which road to take. After a time without saying a word, John turned to look at Sherlock, who was staring out of the window and singing. And he smiled at the sight. 

\------------------------

"It's down here." 

John stopped in front of a beautiful and big house, with an ancient architecture, in one of the richest sectors in the town. He looked at Sherlock, surprised. 

"What are you looking at Watson? Get out."

John shook his head. "Yes, it's just that I didn't expect you to live in...here." He said as he casted an eye all over the house. 

Sherlock frowned as he left John's car. "What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing, it's... it's very beautiful."

"Dull. Boring. Predictable."

"I wouldn't say so."

They entered to the house, which was even more surprising in the inside. With walls of wood and a very homely style, John thought this was pretty much the place of his dreams. As they passed by the kitchen, a woman saluted them, dazzled. "Oh, dear! How was school? I see you brought a friend!" She said excitingly.

"He is _not_ my friend." Sherlock said glancing quickly at John, who just said at the same time: "Oh God _no_!"

"Fine, you are _not_ friends, but introduce me to him at least."

Sherlock sighed but obeyed. "Watson, Mrs Hudson. Mrs Hudson..." The greaser turned to look at John and rolled his eyes. "...John Watson."

John leaned closer to shake her hand and looked at Mrs Hudson as he pointed at Sherlock. "And we are _not_ friends."

Mrs Hudson chuckled. "Anyway, I'll bake you a pie. Do you like pies, John?" She said, looking at the smaller boy.

"Of course! Who doesn't?" He replied with a smile. Sherlock rolled his eyes and walked towards the stairs. 

"Don't worry, there's pie for you too, sweetie!" Mrs Hudson yelled. 

John smiled to her, "Thank you, you are very nice!"

"Oh don't you worry, now you boys have fun!" She replied.

"Doubtful." John said as he turned towards the stairs, too.

John shouted from the first floor, before climbing up the stairs.

"Holmes! Where are you?"

"Third door at the left"

And the second floor was even more surprising than the first one. It was a large, very large hall with about seven doors on each side, and John looked at it surprised, he didn't expect a person like Sherlock would live in a place like this. He entered to the third door on the left and he couldn't hide the huge surprise that was drawing in his face. 

The place was unreal and it was huge: there were three microscopes, papers scattered all around the table, the walls were filled with books everywhere, so many books. Right next to the pile of papers, there was the typewriter. When John reacted, he turned to look at Sherlock, who was turning his back to him, sitting in a chair. "Is this... All yours?"

"Yeah, this is my laboratory." Sherlock said nonchalantly and without turning.

"Wow, so you _really_ like chemistry." John said, surprised. Sherlock scoffed and turned his chair to look at him. 

"Are you writing a book, Watson?" Sherlock said, annoying.

"What?" John said, distracted, glancing around the whole room, surprised. Then he turned to look at the greaser and shook his head.

"No. Sorry, no. Let's work."

"Righto." Sherlock said and stood up, took a vinyl and put it on the record player. 

"Oh no, no, no! I _can't_ work with that music!" John said, moving his hands through the air.

Sherlock smiled as soon as the song (which John identified was from Buddy Holly, damn you, Harry Watson) started playing, and without looking at John he said: "Learn to, Watson."

John rolled his eyes and sighed as he took a chair and moved it right next to the greaser, who was already putting the paper on the typewriter and was starting to write. As he typed his and John's name, and the school and subject and all that formalities, he turned to look at John and said: "Bring me the chemistry books."

John widened his eyes. "What? All of them?"

"Well, as many as you can handle without crushing and hitting me." He said, smirking.

John felt he blushed _what? I am blushing? Damn it!_ He cleared his throat. "I can't assure you anything." He said standing up and moving towards the shelves of books, looking for every title which might say something about the origins or the development of chemistry.

They were heavy, and the road from the shelves to the desk seemed endless, yet it were only 5 or 6 steps. John wanted to prove he _could_ handle those 7 books he found and he managed to pick them up, which he found really surprising. But he couldn't see anything, not even the pile of books he tripped with. He fell and so did the books, causing a very loud noise. Sherlock turned and there it was again, John was blushing. "Dear lord, Watson. What is your damn problem?" He said between laughing and annoyed, as he stood up. 

He picked up the books and offered a hand to John, which the boy looked at and then took, as he stood up too. He looked at Sherlock, fixing his glasses. "Sorry." He said, clearly embarrassed.

Sherlock laughed, a _genuine_ laugh and John thought he should do that more often, as it highlighted his...features. "You are _so_ weak, nerd!" He said as he stopped laughing.

"Hey! Those books are really heavy!"

"You could bring just three and then the other three, smart pants!"

"I _wanted_ to prove I could do it without hitting you or something."

Sherlock looked at him, smiling. "And how did that go, Watson?"

"Shut up, Holmes." He said, smiling shyly. His head was burning and, without a single doubt, he was blushing.

\------------------

It was 5:30 and they had already done a huge part of the work. It turned out Sherlock knew lots of things about chemistry, and they worked surprisingly good together. Mrs Hudson entered to Sherlock's... laboratory, carrying two glasses of milk and two slices of apple pie. "Hello, my boys!"

John smiled at her, and Sherlock didn't look up, he kept typing. "Hello, Mrs... Hudson, right?"

"Yes dear, Mrs Hudson" she answered with a smile. "I brought you two your pies and some milk so you can take a proper break from working so hard."

John stood up and received the tray. "Thank you so much, it looks delicious."

Mrs Hudson asked curiously. "Oh you're welcome, no problem. So... How did you meet Sherlock, John?"

Sherlock, who was still sitting in the chair, still typing and still not paying attention to them, rolled his eyes and turned up the volume of the record player, until there was almost nothing hearable except Buddy Holly's _That'll be the day._ "SHERLOCK!" Mrs Hudson shouted almost immediately. He didn't turn. "SHERLOCK!!!"

The greaser turned and looked at her with a frown. "Yes?"

"TURN DOWN THE VOLUME OF THAT THING!" She said with a surprising attitude of authority which John never thought could come from someone like her. And Sherlock obeyed.

"Thank you! Now, where were we?"

 "Oh, right, Sherlock. I met him at History Class. He was placed behind me and the teacher forced us to work in pairs for the final project and he paired me up with him. Not my first choice, I must say..." He said, turning to look at Sherlock who really didn't seem to be part of this world and was unaware of everything happening around him. "...but we're almost finished, which is a good sign."

"Well, it's the first time he brings a friend here, so you must work _really_ good together!" She said with a smile. As soon as she said that, Sherlock stood up so fast that John didn't even have time to reply "I'm not his friend" and was closing the door of the laboratory without saying another word to Mrs Hudson, who was barely able to say "...I'm going to have a talk with your parents." 

"I'm not your friend." John told Sherlock, as he couldn't say it to Mrs Hudson.

Sherlock turned to look at him, frowning. "And what? Do you think I'm dying for your friendship or...?"

John shook his head trying hard not to make eye contact with Sherlock, whose blue/green/gray eyes were fixed on him. "No, no. Just so you leave that clear to her."

"I already told her! She doesn't understand!" Sherlock said shrugging.

"Fine. So, a little break huh?" John said moving towards the desk and taking a slice of apple pie and a glass of milk.

Sherlock sat on the chair and started typing again, they already had two and a half pages. "I don't take breaks when I'm working."

"Well, at least have the pie Mrs Hudson baked for you." John said, taking a bite of the pie. "...it's delicious."

"I don't eat when I'm working." The greaser replied without taking his eyes off the paper.

"...because you do that very often or...?"

Still, not looking up, Sherlock answered. "You'd be surprised." "Really?" John said confused.

Sherlock shook his head and stood up, this time looking at him with that scary gaze the greaser knew to pull well so much. "We're not here to talk about me, are we?"

John cleared his throat and drank a sip of milk. "Right, sorry. But do take the break. It will clear your mind." The boy sat in a sofa in front of the record player, and closed his eyes, exhaustion getting him.

Sherlock moved towards the record player and took a vinyl. He put it up, showing it to John, who opened his eyes as soon as he heard the greaser's voice. "Alright Watson, you _are_ going to listen to some real music right now."

"Mozart?"

Sherlock laughed at John, (not with him, _at_ him) "Better." The greaser said putting the record. "Now shut up and prepared to be marveled."

The greaser sat (more like sprawled)  right next to John in the sofa and closed his eyes, smiling. John looked at him and couldn't help but smile too, that until the song started playing. The guitar solo of the beginning gave John the first clue that a. This wasn't better than Mozart and b. He wasn't going to like this. But he never thought he would dislike it that much until he heard the lyrics. It was Chuck Berry's _Roll Over Beethoven._

_Roll Over Beethoven, tell Tchaikovsky the news..._ Sherlock sang opening his eyes and turning to look at John, who was staring at him with a frown and looking upset. As soon as the song was over, Sherlock straightened and looked at John expectantly. "Well?" "Well what?" John said seriously.

"You _can't_ tell me Mozart or Beethoven is better than this. This _rolls_ over them!" 

"I disagree." 

"No you don't." Sherlock said looking him up and down.

"Yes, I do." John said lowly.

The greaser leaned closer, dangerously closer, John thought, and looked straight into his eyes, not taking the gaze away from him.

John stood motionless, shocked. Sherlock shook his head and lowered his voice. "You're lying."

"No I'm not", John said trying to avoid the tension of the moment.

"Oh, your eyes tell me otherwise." Sherlock whispered, still looking at him, still incredibly close. "You just don't _want_ to let go with music, but you _can't_ help it, can you?"

John kept the eye contact but didn't reply, he was too busy telling himself not to look at Sherlock's lips, but it was _so_ hard. They stood silent for a moment, looking into each other's eyes, not moving. 

After a moment that seemed like an eternity, (and John would have wished it so), Sherlock stood up, shaking his head and pulling his serious, threatening face. He then cleared his throat. "Alright, we should better..."

"Yes..." John said standing up and trying to push away the invading thought of Sherlock's eyes in his head. "...we should."

The greaser sat on the chair again and started typing. John sighed and sat too. 

\------------------

It was 7:00 and they had already finished. John read the paper and sighed, relieved. "Good, I like it."

"Good." Sherlock said.

"So I'd better be off." John said, taking his notebook and putting it inside his bag.

"You better do, Watson" Sherlock said, standing up. 

"Hum... Sorry for throwing your books." John mumbled, and

Sherlock smiled slightly.

"Righto." Sherlock just answered.

"And give my thanks to Mrs Hudson. The pie was delicious." 

"Fine."

"And I'll see you tomorrow."

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. "Are you leaving or what?" And John thought _oh alright, this is the Holmes I know._

"Yes! Goodbye!" John said rushing towards the door.

"Goodbye, _John_." Sherlock said lowly, but loud enough for John to hear it, he turned to look at him and the greaser smiled. 

John forced to pull himself together and not freak out at the fact that Sherlock just called him John and that in his voice his name sounded incredibly beautiful. All he could do was to pull a little smile before saying "Goodbye, _Sherlock_." And that said, he turned, walked towards the door and left.

Mrs Hudson came to Sherlock's laboratory a minute later. "Oh, did John leave? I was going to invite him to have dinner with us"

Sherlock cleared his throat as he pulled out a vinyl and put it on the record player. "Yes. Yes he did."

"I see you had fun."

"What?" Sherlock turned to look at Mrs Hudson, who was smiling at him.

"Well... I've never seen you smiling like this before." She said happily.

"Goodbye Mrs Hudson" Sherlock said closing the door.

\-------------------

John turned on his car and couldn't help but smile. He didn't know what had happened but _something_ had changed. And Sherlock definitely wasn't the typical greaser, no. He was smart and nice and liked books and _oh god why am I thinking so much about it?_ John didn't _want_ to think about Sherlock, but he didn't seem to get him out of his head. But why?

Before pulling the accelerator, he turned on the radio, and it was in the same station as Sherlock had left it. And John turned the volume up and let himself go with the music. And he decided this rock n roll music was not much of a simple noise after all. 


	5. Don't be cruel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're lying."

"So, how did it go with the bird yesterday, John?" Harry asked as they were going to school. She turned on the radio and some singer (who John didn't quite recognize) was singing a song about Hound dogs. But he didn't complain.

"Huh?" John said distracted, his eyes fixed on the road.

"Don't _huh_ me! You heard me, how did it go? Did he punch you?" 

"No, actually it went good."

Harry looked at John suspiciously. "Why are you smiling?"

John realized he was, in fact, smiling and cleared his throat before answering his sister. "I'm not."

"Oh..." Harry said making a huge 'O' with her mouth.

John looked at her frowning and confused. "Oh what?"

"You _like_ him" She said with a compliant smile. 

 _Do I? NO ABSOLUTELY NOT!_ "...No."

"Oh you do, you absolutely do. Wow, I never thought you would fall for a greaser, look at that, in love with a bad boy..." She said mockingly. 

"No I'm not Harry! I would never ever fall for someone like him, Okay Harry?"

"Fine." She said without believing one of the words her brother just said. "Just be careful, alright? I told you, those greasers are not that nice."

"You are one of those greasers, Harry."

"And I'm not that nice."

"No, you certainly aren't." And as John said that, Harry punched him in the shoulder, "Ouch!"

"Don't mess with me, nerd!"

"Alright you just did a wonderful impression of Sherlock." John said smiling.

"Oh... But you can't get him out of your head, can you?" She said smiling at his brother.

"I haven't... Fallen for him."

"Yes, sure, right. Good luck with that."

"Thank you, so to you with Clara."

Harry looked at him and opened her eyes wide, biting her lip. "I am not... I'm not. I'm not...."

"Oh, I know better than that, believe me."

"But shut your face John, one word about the topic and seriously I'll punch you, _nerd._ "

"Righto." John said and Harry's face turned into an incredibly surprised gaze.

_"What did you just say?"_

"Nothing."

"You said righto. _Righto._ Oh my God!"

"What?"

"Someone uses that word a lot." She said smiling.

"Really? Who does?" John said trying to look nonchalant but it did not work, so he kept his eyes fixed on the road.

"Oh no no no! Don't mess with me, nerd! Sherlock does! Wow. He has changed you!"

"We've only talked like twice, Harry!"

"Yet here you are saying righto. What now? Will you start wearing leather jackets or...?"

"No chance."

"Confirmed."

"What is?" John said turning to look at his sister, frowning as she smiled widely.

"Just... Confirmed." And so they continued along the road without saying another word.

\----------------------

John shouldn't be as excited as he was of going to school, he didn't what to admit the thought that was going through his mind: _Sherlock_. He was dying to see Sherlock. Why? He had absolutely no idea. He was probably crazy.

He arrived early and looked around, no sign of the greaser nor of his brainless friends. He took his English book out of the locker and went to the classroom with a sigh.

As soon as he sat, he heard a girl's voice behind him. "Hello, John!" 

He turned to look at her and smiled. "Hi, Molly."

"How are your classes going?"

"Good, I guess. I'm working hard. I really am."

"Well, and I believe you will do great in chemistry!" She said with a grin. "You are putting so much effort in the club!"

John started to get a feeling as to where this conversation was going and he thought he didn't want to go there. "Mm yes."

"So, about yesterday..." She said getting a bit more serious. _Oh, here it is._ "...what was all that about?"

"What was what about?" John said coming up a bit ruder than he intended to. 

"...Sherlock."

"Oh, we are doing this project together."

"Together? Like the two of you?" She said surprised and questioningly.

"Yeah, like the two of us." He said normally but then her face dropped and she looked torn.

John realized she might have gotten it the wrong way. "No, no, no!" He said moving his hands in the air. "That's not what I meant to say! We are not _together._ There is not two of us. No. God no. We are...friends" he babbled as a small grin threatened to appear in his face.

"Oh!" Molly's face lightened. "Good! I'm sorry I saw it in other way."

John felt interested at the thought. But then shook it away from his head. "It's okay."

"Mm... I'm sorry to bother you, John, but I was wondering if you knew if he is seeing someone."

Now it was turn to John's face to drop. He had absolutely no idea. He didn't know anything about his "friend" oh god, he wasn't even his friend! He was someone he barely knew and he hated! He reminded himself. "...no, Molly. Sorry. I don't know."

"Oh it's okay. I wanted to ask you one tiny favor if it's not too much."

"What would that be?"

"Would you mind giving him my telephone number?" She said shyly. 

John managed to put a fake smile incredibly easily. "Sure, Molly. I'll try. I can't assure you anything, Sherlock is very unpredictable, but you know, it's worth a try isn't it?"

Molly smiled. "Yes! It is! I'm kind of having a tiny crush on him" she said lowly, leaning closer to John.

The thought of Molly and Sherlock invaded his mind and he didn't like it. "Oh, alright." He said as she passed him a piece of paper with few scratches on it.

"Thank you John, thank you so much. Mm... Would you please tell him that if he is going to call he does it at about five or six, before my dad arrives home."

"Sure I will Molly, but as I told you, I can't assure you anything."

"No, don't worry. Just thank you."

And John looked at the piece of paper before bending it and putting it in his pockets. 

\-------------------------

"Oh, that's what I call a doll!" Greg said as he leaned his back in the door of the car.

"Who?" Sebastian said looking up.

"The new girl! Look at that!"

"Uhhhhh! That's one nice chick."

They smiled at her as she winked an eye to them. She really was a beautiful girl, wearing red lipstick, her hair curly and long, and in black from the shirt to her heels. She stopped just as she passed by them, turned back and walked towards the car.

"Damn. She's coming!" Greg said standing straight. "Look natural." But she ignored them, instead she moved towards the boy who was standing next to them.

"Hello." She said smiling and extending her hand. "I don't think we've met."

Sherlock looked up to find a tall, skinny, girl, with her green eyes fixed on him. "Obviously." He said expressionless.

"Irene...Adler." She said smiling.

"Hm."

"Aren't you going to give me your name?" She said putting her hand down as she realized Sherlock wasn't going to respond.

He looked at her and frowned. "Why would I?"

"Because I just gave you mine."

"I didn't ask for it."

She smiled even wider and leaned closer. "Oh, but you wanted to." She said extremely secure and confident of herself.

"No. I didn't." Sherlock said honestly.

" _What_ is your name? And don't make me ask it again."

Something in Irene's voice warned Sherlock he really shouldn't.

"Sherlock. Holmes." He said without looking at her. 

"What a pleasure, Sherlock."

"I'm off to class." Sherlock said moving from the car and away from the girl, followed by Sebastian and Greg who smiled foolishly when they passed in front of her.

"Don't worry Sherlock, we'll meet again." She said with a wink.

"Of course we will, we study in the same school." Sherlock replied walking away from her.

"Duuuuuude!" Greg said as they walked towards the school door.

"What?" Sherlock looked confused at Greg without slowing his pace.

"You don't know who she is?" Greg said surprised.

"Irene Adler. She just told me her name. You were there."

"Yes! But she is the new girl, the new doll! Everybody wants to be with her!"

"I don't." Sherlock said stopping and looking at both Sebastian and Greg who threw him an amused gaze.

"Liar." Sebastian said.

"You better take your chance with that doll, bird!" Greg said excitingly, patting his arm.

Sherlock frowned and walked to his classroom.

\--------------------

John had just finished his second class and was leaving the classroom when he found Sherlock in the lockers talking to his friends. Well, not really talking, he barely paid attention to them and rolled his eyes every time one of them made a stupid comment which was all the time but they didn't seem to notice, except for Jim, who looked at him fixedly.

John put his hand in his pocket and felt the paper Molly gave him earlier, and even though he didn't want to give it to him, he realized this was the only excuse he could find to actually talk to him. 

So he moved closer, took a deep breath and went to talk with the greaser. "Sherlock." 

The greasers immediately shut up and looked at John in surprise. He then realized he had said "Sherlock". Whoops. Sherlock frowned and turned to look at John, standing in front of him, and he looked so tall, and John was so small.

"Holmes for you, ankle-biter." He said with a very serious face.

 _Ankle-biter? Seriously? I preferred when he called me John._ "Sorry. Mm... Molly. Molly Hooper. Remember? The girl from the chemistry club. She asked me to give you her number. So I'm doing it." He said showing Sherlock the paper. 

"Oh!!!" Sebastian said making a big "O" with his mouth. "Sherlock's got himself a nerd girlfriend!"

Sherlock threw Sebastian a killing look which seemed to have a huge impact on the boy, who immediately said "Sorry".

Sherlock lifted his eyebrow and took the paper, staring at it carefully and John wished so hard it was his number instead of hers. "So... Are you calling her?"

He looked at John with a frown. "Are you writing a book?" He said with that ugly look he was so good at giving. And suddenly John felt like the biggest idiot in the world for calling Sherlock Holmes his friend.

"Sorry. So I did my job. I gave you her number. You decide if you call her or not."

"Anything else?" Sherlock said sighing and rolling his eyes.

"No. Just goodbye."

Sherlock snorted and didn't answer. Instead he turned his back and went back to his friends.

John stood there for a second and when he realized what just had happened he turned and left. _Of course, Watson, nothing changed, you big idiot. Sherlock Holmes is the same stupid, obnoxious, prepotent guy he's always been._ And he was angry but he didn't know what he was angry about.

And he regretted the second he had changed his mind about the greaser.

\----------------

It was lunchtime and John was still angry and not knowing what he was angry about made him even angrier. Mike was sitting next to him and looked at him a little worried. "Alas John, are you alright? You haven't even touched your food." He said pointing to John's untouched lunch with his fork.

"I'm fine! I'm fine! I don't need your worry nor your pity!" John said in a tone that came almost like a shout without him wanting to.

"Sorry buddy, I just worried about you."

"I don't need you to worry about me! I don't need anyone to worry about me, alright? Anyone!"

"Jesus John, chill!"

John stood up really angry (and he still didn't know what about) looked at Mike and said forcefully "I just need to get some air."

"Yes, I think you do." Mike replied.

John really had no idea what he was angry about until he saw Sherlock sitting in the same little chair at the turn of the corner as always. Damn it. He felt a rush of heat in his head and realized the root of all his problems (as had been usual so far this year) was, once again, the greaser.

He sighed and walked past Sherlock, who was reading with that focused face he managed to make, which seemed to get him lost from this world, lost from reality. Something only Sherlock managed to do. And John felt like somehow he knew him, but he didn't. There were so many layers of Sherlock. So many things he hid, so many things he went through, so many things he never told anyone about. Why would John make the difference? Why did John think he even had the chance to make the difference? Silly little John.

He didn't even look down as he passed. He forced himself not to.

But Sherlock stood up, closed his book and called "John."

John stopped and stood frowning and wondering if his name had come from _that_ voice. Apparently he had. _Don't turn, don't turn, keep walking._ He told himself, but he couldn't help it. He turned.

Sherlock stood up, looking at him, very serious, but not in his _I will skin you_ face, in a more friendly one, something John still didn't understand. Another layer of Sherlock's façade. "What?" John said trying to sound as cool and as nonchalant as possible.

"I need to talk to you." Sherlock said, taking some steps towards him, which unconsciously made John take those same steps back, trying to be as away from the greaser as possible.

"Good." John said and then turned and kept walking. It was his payback. Sherlock had done that before.

But just as he walked he felt the greaser grabbing his arm and pushing him towards the wall. Damn it, he didn't have nowhere to go, no place to escape, he was forced to look at Sherlock directly to his face, to those blue/green/gray penetrating eyes. 

"Listen to me." Sherlock said looking at John.

John sighed. " _Fine._ But hurry, your friends might show up!"

"Don't be silly. I wanted to um... Apologize."

And John's eyes widened with surprise. He did not see that coming.

"Apologize?"

"Don't make me say it again."

"Fine. Apologize. What for?" John still looked at him very seriously, forcing himself not to look at his lips. But it was _so_ hard.

"My behavior." Sherlock said as it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Care to elaborate?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and let out a sigh. "Look, I'm sorry I called you an ankle-biter and I'm sorry I was so mean to you."

"Why?" 

Sherlock frowned, confused. "Why What?"

"Why are you apologizing, this isn't what you do, this isn't Sherlock Holmes, the popular greaser with his cheekbones and his jacket and looking cool."

"My... _Cheekbones?"_

"Well yes, you can cut paper with those." John said relaxing his face a bit.

And Sherlock smiled and John loved that smile.

"And I'm not calling Molly. Just so you know."

John felt a little relieved. "Oh good, let me add that to the book I'm writing about you."

And Sherlock smiled again. 

John gathered all the courage he could and told himself to do it because he _needed_ to know. "...Look, I know it's none of my business and I don't really care, but do you have a girlfriend?"

"No." Sherlock said without hesitation.

"Good. You're unattached. Just like me."

"Well, obviously you're unattached." Sherlock said calmly.

" _Obviously?_ "

"Oh John, you only care about writing and doing works and learning. And while I admit that's interesting, life not only depends on that."

"Mine does." John said convinced.

"That's what you tell yourself. But you need to live. Get out of the box. _Experience._ " Sherlock's voice sounded almost, _almost_ seductive.

And they fell silent and there it was again, that same tensioning eye contact they had made the day before and the greaser was so close and John could have so easily kissed him, but he resisted and he stood there, until he realized he was looking at Sherlock's lips and he told himself not to but he kept doing it and he couldn't stop it.

"You just can't help it, can you?" Sherlock said lowly.

And John shook his head. Still not knowing why. 

Sherlock let out a smirk. "Good. I'll see you later John, you still have lots of things to learn about rock n' roll."

"I don't like rock n' roll." John said shaking his head, still looking at Sherlock, this time right into his eyes.

Sherlock leaned closer ( _even_ closer) and John froze for a second, thinking the greaser would kiss him and how it would feel like. Good, he thought. But then he heard Sherlock's voice whispering into his ear. "You're lying." 

John stood silent, still in shock, still feeling Sherlock's breath in his ear. Then the greaser pulled himself apart and _God why is he so away now?_ John wondered without opening his mouth because he was scared he might end up making a fool of himself.

Sherlock lifted his hand and touched John's face, and it was so warm, it felt so right. John closed his eyes at the touch. "Goodbye, John."

And the warm hand was gone and as John opened his eyes all he could see was the silhouette of the greaser getting lost in the hall. And he breathed deeply. Sherlock Holmes was full of surprises and damn it they almost kissed again! What was happening? What was this boy? What was that John was feeling? He sighed and sat on the chair Sherlock had sat on minutes ago, covering his face with his hands, trying to understand, but he couldn't.

When he stood up he realized he wasn't angry anymore.


	6. Let The Good Times Roll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry? Harry Watson?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for Language!
> 
>  
> 
> I also invite you to follow [my tumblr blog](http://johnandsherlocks.tumblr.com/), for more Sherlock :3

"Sh-boom!" Greg yelled while Sherlock entered to the cafeteria only holding his book and trying to hide the little smile growing in his face. The greaser stopped immediately and turned to look at Greg confused.

"Sh...what?" Sherlock said frowning.

"Sh-boom." Greg said smiling. 

"Why?" Sherlock said shaking his head.

"The crew-cuts! you've heard the song, haven't you?"

"Of course I have!" Sherlock stiffed. "The question is _why_ are you calling me like that?"

"Because...it fits you!" Greg said smiling compliantly and Sherlock thought about how stupid that nickname must have sounded, and he smiled weakly, but it was a real smile, of all his...friends, Greg was the only one Sherlock felt slightly comfortable with, so he moved towards the table and sat right next to Greg. "Where have you been, greaser boy?"

"What do you want, Greg?"

"There's a party today and we are invited!" He said excitingly.

Sherlock didn't know how to feel about it, it had been so long since he didn't go to a party, the last time... The accident had happened.

But he didn't like talking about it.

"What time?"

"Eight."

"Where?"

"Clara's."

He had no idea who Clara was, not that it mattered. He was going anyway.

"So, you're going?"

Sherlock nodded. "But you'll pick me up. I can't drive."

Greg smiled, leaned back in his chair and nodded. Sherlock spent the rest of the lunchtime in silence thinking about John. No. Thinking about the party he was going to.

\-------------------

It was almost 8:30 and Greg hadn't arrived yet and Sherlock wanted to leave as far as possible because his brother would arrive soon and he would find out and not allow him to go, of course. He was pacing up and down in his bedroom, when a beep sounded. He looked through the window and Sebastian, Jim and Greg were looking up to him while waiting. "I'll be down."

He went downstairs and as Mrs Hudson was listening to the radio in the kitchen, he opened the door and left. Apparently she didn't notice.

"Hello, bird!" Jim said with that mocking tone he always had. 

Sherlock lifted his chin in a salute and entered the car, where Johnny Cash sounded loudly. "Go, go, go, my brother will arrive soon!" And Greg accelerated.

Clara didn't live very far away from Sherlock's house, and in like ten minutes they were already there. The place was full of people, about to burst, yet they got in. Music was very loud and Sherlock felt he missed this, not dancing, not talking to people, he missed listening to music and looking at people come and go as he drank, it made him happy. 

A girl saluted them effusively as they walked in, so Sherlock assumed it was Clara. "Likes. Girls. What a waste." Sebastian whispered to Sherlock in the living room. Sherlock nodded rolling his eyes. "...She is with this girl from the school, you see PE with her. Harry." 

Sherlock nodded again and then his eyes widened and he turned to look at Sebastian surprised. "Wait. _Harry?_ Harry Watson?"

"Yeah." Sebastian nodded looking around at the girls that were passing by. "Oh, now if you excuse me, I just found me a dolly." He said rising his cup and leaving. 

 _Interesting._ Sherlock thought. John had mentioned his sister the day before, as he talked about Elvis, except he forgot to mention that a.She was a girl and b. She liked girls. _Very, very interesting though._

"Thinking?"

He heard a voice behind his back and turned to look at the girl he had seen that morning in front of him. Irene. She was now wearing a dress that highlighted her features. She was smiling and she handed Sherlock the cup. He took it.

"Irene." He said walking past her.

"Sherlock." She said following him. 

When he realized he was being followed he frowned and turned to look at her. "Oh for God's sake what do you want?"

"Nothing. Just talk to you, that's all." She said pulling a small smile.

"Too bad. I'm busy."

"Oh, don't play these games with me, it doesn't work-" 

Sherlock looked at her and said lowly. "Look, I'm flattered, but I'm not interested. Good?"

"Oh!" She said, surprised. "I see!" And Sherlock felt a bit scared and regretted opening his mouth. "So, _boys."_

Sherlock frowned, "Boys?"

Irene smiled calmly. "Look, Sherlock, you would have to be two things to deny the possibility of being with me: either an idiot or gay. I know you are not an idiot. Certainly not an idiot. So there's only one left."

 _"_ I'm not discussing that with you, goodbye." He said turning but she touched his back, stopping him and pushing him down so they sat in one of the stairs.

"Oh no dear, we're just starting." 

"Stop implying...whatever it is you're implying." Sherlock said trying to keep his pride but then he realized it came out more like a beg. 

"Don't worry bird, my lips are sealed" she said leaning closer to him.

"After all, I'm not all into boys."

"What?" Sherlock said looking at her, widening his eyes. 

"I don't like being exclusive to a certain group, Sherlock. There are options, _too many_ options just to stand with one."

"See anyone interesting?" He said relaxing a bit now.

"For you?"

"No, not necessarily."

She smiled. "What's his name?"

"What?"

"You just smiled, so you thought about someone, what's his name?"

"There's no one." Sherlock said defensively.

"Oh, I don't believe you." She said smiling compliantly.

"Well you better do." Sherlock said expressionless.

"Dear, dear Sherlock. Let me tell you, I will find out. Eventually." 

Sherlock didn't say another word. He just took the cup and drank everything that was on it, trying to shake his thoughts away. Irene decided it was best  to break the tension.

"Clara. She looks interesting." She said patting Sherlock's arm.

"She is dating someone." Sherlock replied without looking at the woman.

"Oh really? Well that shouldn't be a problem." Irene said smiling widely, looking at Sherlock. 

"Don't lay a finger in her, Irene. She has a girlfriend. You'll hurt her."

"Look at that! the bad boy has feelings!" Irene said excitedly.

"Doubtful." Sherlock replied looking down at the cup.

"Fine, fine, I won't." She said smiling at Sherlock. "It will be hard but I would do _anything_ not to piss you off." And she was flirting again and it made Sherlock feel utterly uncomfortable.

"What about your friend?" She asked pointing with her finger at Jim, who was in the backyard sucking hard on his cigarette.

"I...don't know anything about Jim. Sorry."

"Don't worry, I'll find it out by myself, thank you very much." She said handing Sherlock her cup and standing up, then she turned and touched his face. "Sherlock. Dear, dear Sherlock. You won't escape that easily. This is not over. I'm warning you." 

He stood expressionless. "I know, I know." He replied taking a sip of her cup.

"Good luck with the boy." She said with a wink. Sherlock didn't look up and took an even bigger sip.

"Hope you don't get your heart broken, darling." Irene said with a smile.

"I've been reliably informed I don't have one." Sherlock said looking really serious.

"We'll see about that." She said smiling and walking away, she passed over the table and took two other cups of beer and opened the backyard door handing one of them to Jim as she smiled.

\-------------------

About two hours had passed and he was already feeling hammered. And he hated that. Before the accident he used to handle alcohol so well, the word _limit_ was never in his vocabulary, well, it still wasn't, but he used to handle so much more. And he was bored, lots of girls had sat right next to him and asked him to have a dance but he shook his head and kept drinking. He felt sad and didn't know why.

"Oh boy, stop blocking the stairs!" Someone yelled at him from behind.

He turned and looked up, finding a young girl standing in front of him, holding a cup and looking _very_ drunk. "Harry?"

"Sherlock Holmes!" She said excitedly, moving her hands in the air. "How are you, bad boy?" She sat right next to him, her eyes were lost, _alcoholic._ Sherlock thought immediately. And he felt so sorry for John.

"...good?" He said looking at her and shaking his head.

"Good, good!" She said nodding up and down, up and down, up and down and smiling. "I'm good too. Have you seen Clara? I lost her... I think I saw her like an hour ago. Oh! That song!" She said yelling. "I LOVE that song!"

Elvis. Sherlock remembered John and his black Elvis and smiled. He was so different from his sister.

"Everybody loves Elvis."

"I prefer Buddy Holly if you ask, but yeah, Elvis is pretty good" she said drinking the last sip of beer at her cup. Then she looked at Sherlock's cup, which was still half-full, took it and started drinking.

He felt so sorry for her, she looked so unhappy.

"For how long have you been drinking, Harry?" He said seriously.

She pulled a shaky fake smile and looked at the cup, taking another sip. "My brother..." Sherlock rolled his eyes, he didn't want to have this conversation right now. "...I don't know what happened yesterday, Sherlock. But I've never seen him smiling as much as he did today." 

Sherlock's eyes widened and he froze, unable to say anything. It was obvious Harry was unaware of what she was saying, clearly too drunk to think properly but was she being honest? Was she implying what she was implying?

"He likes you. He does."'she said nodding incessantly, up and down, up and down. 

Sherlock didn't know what to say, he really didn't.

"And I can tell you like him too and I can tell he likes you too."

Sherlock sat up straight and felt the need to actually say something this time. "How's that?" 

She extended her arm and with her shaky index finger pointed at his eyes. "Because your eyes lit up."

"You're drunk, Harry." Sherlock said shaking his head.

"You are too!!!' She said laughing.

"What's your point?"

Harry pulled a more serious  face. "I've been told about you, Holmes. And I'm John's big sister so it's my job saying this and I've been told about you."

"...Yes?" Sherlock said growing tired of the conversation because God, Harry was drunk, but he felt a pinch of interest.

"Don't give him false illusions. Don't play with him. Don't break his heart." She said talking as fast as she could.

"I-"

"Shut up and let me do the talking stud! If you cause him any pain, of any kind, Holmes, I will skin you. Because he doesn't _know,_ he has never _felt_ before, he has no idea what love is like."

"He is not in love with me, Harry." Sherlock said convinced.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." She said standing up, and then she fell, and then Sherlock had to help her to stand up properly. She nodded with a smile and waved goodbye, yelling "CLARAAAA!"

Sherlock frowned, without knowing what to deduce from the conversation they just had.

\----------------------

It was about 12 and Sherlock hadn't seen Harry in almost an hour, he was still sitting on the stair, drinking another cup of beer (his seventh) and trying to think so hard, when a phone rang.

Clara came from the backyard (and no signs of Harry) running and yelling "STOP THE MUSIC NOW AND SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

The jukebox stopped immediately. And everything was silent in a second.

Clara picked the phone up slowly and yawned, trying to sound like she just woke up. "...Hello?"

Then her eyes opened wide. "-Yes, mom."

"-Oh, you're not..." Her voice was shaking. "You're not staying?"

"Oh, okay, I'll see you here."

As she hung up she stood up and started running and screaming.

"SHIT! SHIT SHIT SHIT!"

"CUT OUT! CUT OUT! MY PARENTS ARE COMING! SHIT THEY'LL BE HERE IN LESS THAN AN HOUR!" 

And in five minutes the place was half-empty. Sherlock stood up and found Greg at the backyard. "Let's go."

In that moment Clara came running to them shaking her head. "DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE! YOU ARE CLEANING THIS FUCKING MESS!" 

"What?" Sherlock said frowning.

"It was YOUR damn idea!" She said pointing to Greg.

Sherlock turned to look at his friend. "It was _your_ idea?"

Greg looked down and nodded. Clara looked terrified. "Now move your butts and start cleaning!"

Sherlock looked at Greg and extended his hands. "Give me your keys."

"No fucking way man, you're drunk." Greg answered shaking his head.

"GIVE ME THE DAMN KEYS!"

"I won't give them to you, Sherlock! Cool it and start cleaning and we will leave as soon as possible!" Greg said, entering back to the house.

 _Shit._ Sherlock thought.

Clara went downstairs. "Sherlock, where the fuck is Harry?"

"Why should I know?" Sherlock said shrugging.

"I saw you talking! Help me find her!" She said looking exasperated.

"Fine!" Sherlock said looking in the first floor as Clara went to the second floor.

"SHERLOCK!" She yelled after a minute. "SHIT COME HERE!"

He went upstairs and entered to Clara's bathroom. Harry was laying on the floor, unconscious. Damn. She was so drunk she passed out there. 

"Shit." Clara said leaning down and touching Harry's wrist, checking her pulse. "Harry, love, are you okay?" She said worriedly. No response.

She stood up and looked at Sherlock, worry drawing in her face.

"What do we do?"

"Leave her there." Sherlock said expressionless.

"You're kidding right? Are you crazy? I'm not leaving my girlfriend unconscious on the floor! Plus my parents can't see her! They know nothing!" She started pacing across the bathroom, touching her head desperately. "Shit. They know nothing. Shit they're coming. I need to do something NOW!"

"Take her to her house." Sherlock said shrugging.

She thought for a moment, standing still and then turned and yelled incredibly loud. "GREEEEEEEEEG!"

Sherlock frowned at her. Greg went upstairs, running. "What?"

"Take Harry home, please."

"No way, Clara, we need to clean up this mess and Jim is not here and Sebastian is so wasted he can't even hold a broom!" 

"I'll do it." Sherlock said and then opened his eyes in surprise, like he didn't know why he said what he said.

Clara smiled. "Would you?"

"...Yes." Sherlock nodded.

Greg shook his head. "No man, you're drunk."

"I can drive drunk!" Sherlock said annoyed.

"Are you sure?" Clara said trying to pick Harry up.

"Yes, I drive better when I'm drunk."

"Dude, you can't drive."

"That makes me want to take her home even more." Sherlock said smiling.

"Okay okay! I will sketch a map of where her house is. Thank you, thank you so much Sherlock!" She said smiling and rushing downstairs.

"Why are you doing this, Sherlock?" Greg said seriously.

"Doing what?"

"Taking her home."

"No reason at all."

"I don't believe you."

"Lend me your car."

Greg shook his head. "No. Sorry dude but I heard about the accident. I'm not lending you my rocket."

"Fuck you." Sherlock said, really angry.

"You can take mine!" Clara said entering to the bathroom and handing him her keys. "They won't notice! Sometimes I leave it at school. Look, here's the sketch. It's very easy to get there, just a five minutes ride. Thank you Sherlock!"

Sherlock turned to look at Greg. "At least help me get her downstairs."

Greg nodded and they picked her up and brought her downstairs. If it wasn't because of the incomprehensible words she was muttering, Sherlock would be convinced she was dead. After struggling a lot, they managed to get her into the car and she still didn't react! 

"I'll be going home after leaving her, I'll bring you your car tomorrow."

Clara nodded. "Don't worry, Sherlock. Please take care of her."

Sherlock took the sketch and entered to the car. The driver's seat. It had been so long. He touched the steering wheel slowly, feeling it, enjoying the moment. He turned on the car, and felt so excited, yet so terrified. What if it happened again? What if he caused any harm to Harry? What would he tell John? He shook the thought away and pulled off the accelerator. And the car started moving.

\-----------------------

After following the instructions carefully, Sherlock stopped in a small house which had the lights off. "It's here Harry, isn't it?" 

Harry didn't react. "God, you are useless." Sherlock said frowning. 

He took a deep breath and thought of knocking on the door, but stopped himself and thought it was better not making a scandal. He picked a small rock from the garden and pointed to the window at the right, in the second floor. "Harry, this better be the right window because if your father shows up I swear I'll say you forced me to come in here." Harry didn't react.

He threw the rock and no one answered. So he looked for a bigger one, still scared Mr. Watson would show up instead of John. The new rock hit the window strenuously and for a moment Sherlock thought the glass had broken but it didn't. A light turned on and a second later John was opening his window, with his eyes half-closed but as soon as he saw the greaser standing in front of his house, he rubbed them and looked surprised. "Sh- Sherlock, what are you doing here?"

Sherlock smiled. "Hello, John."

"What happened? Is everything okay?" He yelled from the second floor.

"Get down, for God's sake!."

John nodded, closed the window and went downstairs, as he opened the door, a small smile drew on his face. That until he realized. "Damn it... I'm in my pjs." He said looking down.

Sherlock laughed. "It's okay, they're nice."

"Shhhhh! If my parents wake up they would probably kill you! They'll think you're a serial killer or something like that." "How cool would that be?" Sherlock said smiling.

John looked up and smiled. "Are you crazy, Sherlock? And why are you here?"

"Hm, right. Your sister, Harry."

John's smile dropped. "What happened to her? Is she okay?"

"Yes, she is in the back of the car. She passed out in Clara's bathroom. She was too drunk."

John leaned closer and smelled Sherlock. "Apparently so are you."

"Not as much as her. I swear." Sherlock said trying to look as sober as possible.

"Christ, Sherlock! Did you drive all the way in this state? Are you out of your mind?"

"Well, I had to bring Harry safe." And John gave him the biggest grin he had ever seen and he thought he could never get used to see that smile. "Come on, give me a hand, I'll take her out."

They struggled even harder with her but she was starting to recover consciousness and at least was able to walk by herself, muttering words nor John nor Sherlock could manage to understand. Finally they left her at the bedroom shushing her and closed the door quietly, going downstairs and sitting at the kitchen table. "Come on, I'll make you some coffee, I like talking to you when you're sober."

 Sherlock understood why John had been so dazzled the time he had visited his house: this one was very small and humble, but it was a very pretty house. 

As they sat, John covered his face with his hands and let out a sigh.

"I'm sorry." Sherlock looked at him without saying a word. 

"You? Why are you sorry?" The greaser said confused.

"For my sister, I mean, I-"

"Alcoholic." Sherlock said, nodding.

"Well, yes. And I thought she could control this, that this was just a

phase, that as soon as she had Clara she would change completely, but look at her... and my parents don't seem to care at all and I..."

"John, it's not your fault."

"It isn't yours either. Yet she dragged you here." John said looking very torn and sad and Sherlock wanted to see him smile again but didn't know how.

"I came here because I wanted to." He said with a small smile.

And John smiled, a very tiny lift of his lips, but that was enough for Sherlock, who froze there looking at him and finishing his coffee. As soon as he was done, he stood up shakily. "Well, I'd better be off." And he almost fell. Coffee didn't help, he was still very drunk. 

John stood up immediately to grab him. "Sherlock! You can't drive like this."

"I just did." He said smiling. 

"Yes but that was because I didn't know you were doing it. Now I know and I won't allow it."

"You won't allow it?" Sherlock said questioningly.

"No, I want you to be safe." John said picking up the coffee mugs.

"I'll take you home."

"No." Sherlock said shaking his head.

"Look, I'd love to let you stay in here but my parents wouldn't be so thrilled about a guy of their daughter's age staying overnight, people might talk."

"They would get the wrong impression anyway, I wouldn't be here looking for their daughter and neither would she." Sherlock said shrugging and smiling.

John laughed but then his expression turned a little more serious. "Let me take you home, it's the least I can do, after all you did..." He pleaded.

"Fine. But if Mycroft discovers you I'll say you forced me to leave the house and go to the damn party and I didn't want to but I had to." "I- _Mycroft?"_ John said frowning.

Sherlock snorted and rolled his eyes. "My brother, my parents are almost never home so he feels like the king of the house."

"The king?"

"Or queen, whatever. But he must be there by now, and he worries _so much._ It's annoying."

"He should be worried! I look like such a bad boy!" John said, adjusting his glasses.

"I think you don't give yourself enough credit, or you know, a life."

"Smooth!" John said laughing at Sherlock. Then he took the keys lying on the table and said "Let's go, I'll drive. Open the door quietly, if my parents wake up they are going to be mad! Lucky for you, they were at one of dad's friends house and they drank a few glasses so they are deeply asleep."

"Lucky for me?"

"Yeah! If they wake up they'll think you're corrupting me and call your brother or something."

"Oh, but I _am_ corrupting you," Sherlock said touching John's arm and turning to face him, leaning close, so close to John's lips, but John felt the invading smell of booze and shook his head. 

"You are way too drunk, Sherlock."

Sherlock sighed, broke apart and rolled his eyes. "Fine. Take me home then."

And off they were.


	7. Sweet Little Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm _not_ in love with him!"

"God, John! When I'm drunk you seem to drive slower. If that's even possible." Sherlock said with a sigh.

"Hey! It's two in the morning, I'm still half-sleep, I escaped from my house and I'm driving a car that's not mine taking a drunk greaser to his house where his brother is probably freaking out! Do you think driving fast is my priority?" 

Sherlock shrugged. "It would be mine."

"And that's exactly why I'm the one on the driver's seat and not you." John said with a smile.

"How old are you? Are you even allowed to drive?" Sherlock said without taking his eyes off him, which made John feel a little uncomfortable.

John cleared his throat, "I'm sixteen, Sherlock. Of course I can drive, I wouldn't be driving if I couldn't."

"Right, you and your crazy obsession with following the established paradigms..."

"Don't get sociological with me!" John said with a smile. "By the way, how old are you?"

"Eighteen."

"And you lost two years or...?"

"You saw my bookshelf. Do you think I'd be that stupid? I'm disappointed."

John turned to look at Sherlock. "No, no, no... I mean, it's weird, you are incredibly smart..." Sherlock smiled "but you should have gotten graduated a year or two ago."

"My parents travel around the world and they used to take me with them. It's not like I wanted to, but I was forced to. As soon as I turned 16 I told them I could do what I wanted and they left me here with my brother. Not very exciting, but better than living across the globe."

"I would find that exciting." John shrugged.

"That's because you haven't lived it." Then Sherlock sat straight and leaned to take a better look at John, which definitely unfocused him from the road. "You haven't lived at all, actually. Oh, sweet little sixteen."

"Stop making reference to songs I don't know!" John protested.

"I'm bored John!" Sherlock said shaking his head.

John turned to look at him for a second. The greaser was laying on the chair in such a wonderful way, he could barely see him, but his silhouette looked incredible. "And what do you want me to do about that?"

"Drive faster."

"No. And it's not up for discussion."

"Come on John..." Sherlock said lifting his left hand and reaching it to touch John's neck. The boy froze at the touch and stood silent. "...you need to live a little more."

John moved his neck by shaking his head, which forced Sherlock to put his hand away. The greaser turned to look at the window. "Living more does not mean having the risk of an accident."

"Sometimes it's so hard dealing with you, Johnny boy. Can I at least turn the radio on?"

"Fine, fine." John said nodding. He realized it was better not contradicting Sherlock, because that would end in a useless discussion which the greaser would undoubtedly always win. 

Sherlock smiled and leaned to turn the radio on, and suddenly it became harder for John to keep his eyes fixed on the road. The greaser was making the mimic of playing the guitar to the rhythm of the song, and John couldn't help but laugh.

As soon as the guitar solo was finished, Sherlock leaned closer to John and whispered into his ear."Look at that! _Sweet little sixteen!_ Take a listen to the lyrics Johnny boy, the girl of the song lives way more than you do. You should learn from her _."_

John smiled and answered with another whisper. "God, let me focus on the road or I'll drive slower! I'm warning you!"

As soon as John said that, Sherlock pulled apart, frowning, but singing the song, focusing his view on the window. They didn't speak until they arrived to the greaser's house and John hated it to be over.

"...well".

Sherlock shrugged. "...yes."

"Time to go home!" John said pointing with his head towards the door and smiling

"I don't want to" Sherlock said without moving.

"What?"

"I said I don't want to get out. I'm having fun in here and my house is endlessly boring." 

"Sherlock, it's two in the morning! We're not staying here in front of your house!" John protested but Sherlock just turned the volume of the music up.

"Then let's go somewhere else." He said looking at John and smiling in such a nice way that John was almost _almost_ convinced.

"...No." John said shaking away the idea from his head. "No, Sherlock, you are drunk and your brother must be upset and I'm doing what it's right and I'm leaving you here."

Sherlock sat straight in his chair and turned to look completely at John. "See John? That's your problem, you always want to do what's right, for you breaking the rules is something impossible!" 

"But rules exist for a reason!" John said moving his hand in the air.

"Yes! For breaking them!" Sherlock said and then bit his lip. 

John stood silent for a moment, looking through the window. Considering his options, then he shook his head and closed his eyes. "No. Sherlock, no. Not today. I'm sorry. I can't. I promised you I was going to bring you safe and I am. I want to save you from having more problems with your brother and me from giving my parents a disappointment. Sorry."

John was scared of how Sherlock might react, maybe he would leave and then they wouldn't ever talk again, just the way it was supposed to be from the beginning. Wasn't it? But then the greaser just started laughing and John looked at him with a frown. 

"Oh John, I have so many things to teach you." Sherlock said looking at John with a smile. But John was more than confused. He kept frowning.

"Why?"

Sherlock frowned too. "Why what?"

John had no idea what to ask, because there was so much to ask, so many things he needed to know. He was silent for a moment and then turned to look at the greaser in the face. "Why me, Sherlock?"

"What do you mean why you?"

John cleared his throat. "I mean that why of all people did you pick the less interesting and more squared guy? What is so appealing of me?"

Sherlock leaned closer. "Well, my answer will have to be why do you think so little of yourself, John?" John didn't say a word.

Sherlock moved his hand and rested it on John's cheek and he felt the warmth and comfort of the greaser and all he could do was close his eyes. "John, you are much more interesting than you give yourself credit for. Believe me, to me everything is dull, boring and predictable, but you, _you_ are always unpredictable. I can never figure you out, as much as I've tried. And I don't know wether if I like not knowing or I don't, but you are a mystery to me. And that puzzles me and fascinates me at the same time."

"But you hated me, Sherlock. From the first day, remember?"

"I hated not understanding you! Not being able to deduce you! I understand everything, all the time, yet I _can't_ understand you, John!" 

"And what has changed?"

"Everything, John. Everything."

"But why?"

Sherlock sighed, clearly he was getting annoyed with so many questions, but John _needed_ to know. "Because, I got to know you. And I realized the reason why I don't understand you is because you are completely different from every single person I've ever met. And it's different. And I love how everything is different with you.

Starting for Rock n' Roll" he said smiling.

John wanted to lean closer, to hold Sherlock's hair, he wanted to kiss him so badly. But he couldn't. He didn't know if that was what he was feeling, he couldn't be sure, he never felt it before, but somehow he _knew_ this was exactly what he wanted. He tried to gather courage and do it, but he froze. He couldn't move, all he could do was hold into Sherlock's touch. He brought his hand up and placed it over Sherlock's, who looked at him expectantly. He thought of what to say. He couldn't think of anything, so when he opened his mouth again, he was surprised of what came out of it. "You. Are. Drunk. You are not thinking, it's okay Sherlock. I mean, it's fine. I know this is all on the alcohol. Really, it's okay."

Sherlock frowned and John asked himself _why of all things did I say that?_ And that was because he didn't want to believe it was true, because it was both fascinating and terrifying, seductive and impossible. It couldn't be. Sherlock couldn't be in love with him. He couldn't be in love with Sherlock, it was not the way it was supposed to be. The greaser held his hand over John's cheek for a moment, then he let go and looked at him seriously. "You can't possibly believe that, John."

"Of course I do! Of course it is! It's the alcohol! It's okay Sherlock, really, I know this is not who you are."

"What? Why are you even saying that?"

"Because it's the way it is. I'm the guy who only cares about the notes and the school and you, _you_ are the greaser, the bad boy who listens to rock n' roll and never follows the rules and does as he wishes and it's just impossible. That's what it is."

"I disagree."

"No, you know this isn't right."

Sherlock lifted his eyebrow. "What isn't?"

John moved his hands in the air and he couldn't stop asking himself why, why did he keep talking? Why don't just shut up and let go? He couldn't. "You and me. It can't. It won't. It never will."

Sherlock leaned closer (even closer) and looked at John straight into his eyes. John couldn't blink. He couldn't think. Not when Sherlock was this close and when his grey/blue/green eyes were so fixed on him. "You are lying and you know it. Because it's everything you want, isn't it?" Sherlock whispered.

John closed his eyes and nodded. Then opened them and shook his head. "No. It's not."

"Stop lying to yourself, John!" Sherlock said shaking his head.

John was about to answer, when the front door at Sherlock's house opened wide and a man came out. Sherlock looked at it and widened his eyes. "Damn it!" He yelled.

The man tapped on the glass of the window and Sherlock rolled his eyes. Then he put the glass down and the man smiled sarcastically, trying to hide the anger growing in him. If Sherlock hadn't talked about his brother, he would have never imagined it was him. Because that man standing perfectly dressed in a suit at two in the morning looked like the complete opposite from the greaser who was right next to him. "Hello, am I interrupting?"

"Yes, Mycroft, as usual you are!" Sherlock's voice came almost like a scream. 

"Sherlock Holmes, where the hell have you been?"

"What do you care?"

"Of course I care, I am your brother, for God's sake!" 

"I was away." Sherlock said avoiding the eye contact with his brother.

"Really? You don't say." Mycroft said sarcastically, then he turned to look at John, he lifted his eyebrow and then frowned, as questioning what the hell was a boy like John hanging out with a guy like Sherlock. 

Then he turned to look at his young brother and talked louder, but sill looking incredibly calm. "IN, NOW!"

"No." Sherlock said crossing his arms and shifting in the chair. John looked at him, surprised. 

"Sherlock Holmes, I said IN, NOW!"

"And I said NO, Mycroft."

Mycroft was starting to lose his calm and John felt alarmed about it. Something told him that this man had a lot of power and knew very well how to use it.

John turned to look at Sherlock and said "Sherlock, listen to your brother. Enter to your house and get some sleep, I'll see you on Monday okay?"

Sherlock lifted his eyebrows to John and looked surprised. "But, John."

"Please, Sherlock. For me." 

And Mycroft looked at John trying to repress a laughter, which later became into a huge surprise when the greaser opened the door and left, rolling his eyes and sighing.

As he entered to the house, Mycroft stood by the car's door, looking at John questioningly. "What?" John asked.

"He never goes out with a person like... You. So who are you? Why did he listen to you?"

"I'm... No one. Nobody."

Mycroft looked at him incredulously, which forced John to keep the eye contact. "Really, I just saw him very very drunk and brought him home. That's all."

Clearly Sherlock's brother didn't believe in any of his words. "Well, I'll better be off." John said turning on the car.

"Turn the car off, John." Mycroft said in a voice fine that alarmed the boy. So he did.

"What is your connection with Sherlock Holmes?" He said seriously.

John cleared his throat. "There is _no_ connection. Um. We go to the same school. We see one class together. That's all."

"Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?"

"Look, I told you, there is _no_ association with your brother, alright?"

"You are very loyal, very quickly." 

"Sure, loyal. Whatever. I have to um... Go now." He said turning the car on again.

"John." Mycroft said seriously.

"Yes?"

"Trust issues." Mycroft said as if it was the most normal thing to say.

"What?" John said shaking his head.

"You have trust issues. Yet my brother hangs out with you. Why?"

"I don't know, maybe he is crazy."

"Maybe he is not the one who is crazy." Mycroft said lifting his eyebrow.

"Yeah, maybe not. Goodbye." John said accelerating the car and leaving. 

Mycroft stood there looking calmed as John moved away and _what the hell had just happened?_

He had absolutely no idea, but he smiled. Sherlock Holmes. He was far much more than just a greaser, wasn't he? Mike was right after all. 

\----------------------

"What the hell did you tell him, Mycroft?!" Sherlock yelled from the kitchen, moving his hands in the air and looking at his brother who was on the front door, lifting his eyebrow and looking as calm as always.

"Only what was necessary, Sherlock."

"For God's sake! He just brought me here!" Sherlock said arriving to the living room.

"You are drunk!" 

Sherlock snorted. "Have you seen him? Do you really think he is the one who got me drunk?"

Mycroft stood silent for a moment, then said raising his voice,

"Would you mind at least telling me where the hell you were?"

"That's not your problem!"

"Of course it is my problem, Sherlock! You are my brother! You can't imagine how Mrs Hudson was after she found out you were gone, you almost gave her a heart attack!"

"Are you trying to make me feel guilty? Is that what you want?"

"No, Sherlock, that's not what I want! What I want is to make you feel conscious of the mistakes you've made! I thought that damn accident would end it all, but you're still the same stupid little boy you've always been. What a disappointment."

Sherlock looked at Mycroft defiantly. "When are you going to stop reminding me that accident?!" His voice came as a shout. "I told you, I've told you a million times, it _wasn't_ my fault!"

"Yet you were really drunk and you nearly died. You know, Sherlock, it's such a shame that someone as smart as you doesn't know how to use his intelligence correctly."

"What! Because I'm not a square like you? Does that make me an idiot?"

"I believe it does, yes." 

Sherlock stood silent, then Mycroft walked towards the couch and sat, keeping his eyes fixed on his little brother. "So... John Watson." 

Sherlock shook his head. "Nope."

"So he matters." Mycroft said with a small smile drawing in his face. "What a shame he believes he is nobody, because clearly he _is_ somebody. At least for you."

"I said I'm not talking about John with you!" Sherlock said turning his back to his brother and walking towards the stairs.

"Sherlock Holmes, I'm talking to you!"

"Mycroft Holmes, I'm not listening! I _don't_ care. I'm tired and I'm fucking drunk so I'm out. Now leave me alone and don't ever, _ever_ mention John Watson again. Don't ask me about him, don't inquire anything about him, just for once damn time, let me live my fucking life!"

"Oh yes! Look at where living your fucking life has taken you, Sherlock!"

"I'm not a child anymore, Mycroft. I don't need your freaking secret service over me!"

Mycroft stood silent and lifted his eyebrow at his brother, looking at him defiantly. Sherlock realized and widened his eyes, which were looking kind of lost, since the greaser was still very drunk. "Oh. Of course! You knew where I was!"

"I also know that you drove to John Watson's house while drunk-" Mycroft said shaking his head. "How disappointing, Sherlock, you never learn."

"Leave me ALONE!" Sherlock yelled.

"Someday you will understand the only reason I do this is because I care about you, dear brother. Now tell me, what is the nature of your relationship with John Watson?"

"Ask your spies to find it out." Sherlock said bluntly.

"Oh, don't worry, I will find out. I just prefer listening it from you."

"Back off, Mycroft. And leave John Watson out of this."

"Is that a threat?"

"Of course it is. Good night." 

"Good night, brother dear."

\------------------------------

When John arrived to his house it was 3:30 in the morning, yet his parents didn't seem to notice he was gone and neither did Harry. He went straight to his bed, he was incredibly tired.

As he tried to fall asleep, he realized this was probably the most incredible thing he had ever done in his life. Who would have thought he would end up escaping from his house at 2 a.m., take a greaser, a _drunk_ _greaser_ to his house, almost kiss him, _kiss him!_

And then meet his brother. Too many events for one night.

Sherlock was right. This was exciting. He should feel ashamed of escaping and of disobeying his parents but he didn't, at all. He had to admit he had a lot of fun, hitting the road, seeing Sherlock's halfslept face, listening to that music he used to despise... 

 And he had no idea of what was that feeling he got in his stomach every time the thought of Sherlock came to his mind, and what was all of this? What had changed so much? What was so interesting about him? Could it really be true? Sherlock felt something, _anything_ for him? Of course not. And that's why not kissing him was the best choice, because he was drunk and he wasn't thinking properly and in that state anyone would have seemed suitable for the greaser. 

He let out a sigh, smiled and fell asleep.

\-------------------------

The next morning Harry woke up late, his mother was doing breakfast for John. As soon as his sister entered to the kitchen, her mother got red with anger and started yelling at her. Harry didn't answer, she just rubbed her head, _hungover,_ John thought.

After of what it seemed like an endless discussion, which included three weeks of punishment in which she won't be able to go to any party nor to anything fun, her mother left and Harry sat across from John, looking exhausted.

"Fun night, wasn't it?" John told Harry while he ate his toast.

She threw a killing gaze at him and continued to rub her head closing her eyes. "I'm dying... And I don't remember anything from it."

"Oh. So you don't remember you passed out at Clara's bathroom." John said nonchalantly.

Harry opened her eyes widely. "Shit. Did I?"

John nodded while holding his cup of coffee. "Here, have some, it will clear your mind a bit."

Harry took the cup and nodded. "And how the hell did I get here."

John cleared his throat. "Hm...Sherlock brought you."

She widened her eyes and stared at her brother, looking surprised. "What? The greaser brought me here?"

"Yes! And he saw me in my pjs, thank you very much."

Harry laughed, and then did a weird expression, as if her head was about to explode. Then her expression turned more serious. "Oh my god. John, what happened?"

"What happened of what?" John said standing up.

"Don't be silly! What happened with Sherlock?" She said with a look both expectant and worried.

"Harry, don't worry, nothing happened. I just took him home."

"Wow wow wow. You took him home?"

"Yes."

"So you escaped from your house and took a boy to his house?"

"Well, yes. That's what I just told you."

"Now _that_ is something I never expected John Watson would do."

"Oh, stop it Harry!"

"But seriously John, aside from that, nothing happened?"

John smiled because for him, _lots_ of things had happened, but probably for Sherlock, that was absolutely _nothing.  "_ Really, nothing happened."

"Then why are you smiling?"

"Oh Harry come on, I'm _not_ in love with him."

She smiled. "No. Of course you're not."


	8. I've Changed My Mind A Thousand Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm really sorry. Please, believe me."

The weekend seemed to last an eternity for John, who couldn't help himself but wonder constantly how Sherlock was, followed by questioning why did he think about Sherlock so much. He couldn't find an answer to those two questions. Not until he saw the greaser again.

That's why he was wanting so desperately for it to be Monday already, so he could see Sherlock again and convince himself that there was absolutely nothing between them and that nothing would ever happen, _ever._ Clearly he misunderstood the whole situation, and he had to put a stop to the whirlwind of thoughts running through his mind.

And he was convinced of it until he saw Sherlock that morning. The greaser was with his usual jacket and his white t-shirt, rubbing his hands and tapping his feet to the floor as he laid on Greg's car. John recognized that was exactly what Sherlock did when he was dying for a cigarette. He smiled as he realized how much he already knew about Sherlock, and how many things he had yet to discover.

But no. He had to stop this, all of this, whatever it was.

His first class was History. That didn't help. And the worst part of it is that John never felt as excited for having a class as much as he did with this one, even more than biology! And this class was boring, and he didn't really like history, but Sherlock made it so exciting, so fascinating, so mysterious. He realized this class was the highlight of his day, just because he got to see Sherlock.

He tried to hide the grin that was threatening to appear and entered to the classroom. Sherlock wasn't there yet. As he sat, he started tapping his feet on the floor but stopped it as soon as he realized why he was doing it: he was anxious to see Sherlock. _Damn it!_

The greaser entered to the classroom two minutes before 9, looked at John and smiled, and John couldn't help but return it, and suddenly he forgot why it was that he was putting a stop to this, because whatever it was, it made him utterly happy. And apparently so to Sherlock.

"Hello, Johnny boy. How was the ride back home?"

"How was the hungover?" John said with a smile.

"We're not talking about that."

John smiled and looked down, feeling scared of staring at those green/blue/grey eyes. "Boring. You weren't there. But good, I mean at least my parents didn't realize I was gone, and the next day I left the car at Clara's and apparently his parents didn't notice of the party either, so everything went out well."

Sherlock smiled and cleared his throat. "Look, John. About my brother."

John shook his head. "Don't worry, he didn't cross the line, well, he inquired a little about me and you, but that was okay. What I was worried about was what he told _you,_ he looked very upset!"

"Oh, I'm used to that. We had a fight, as usual, I told him to fuck off and leave you  alone and he said I was the biggest disappointment in the family."

"I don't understand."

"What?"

"How can someone like you be a disappointment? You are incredible."

And Sherlock blushed, _blushed._ And John thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen and grinned widely. Sherlock was about to reply when Mr Hikes entered to the classroom, looking defiantly at the greaser, who was standing in front of John's seat. He rolled his eyes and sighed, walking towards his seat.

"Today-" Mr Hikes started the class without saluting and proceeded to explain the activity of the day. "-We'll be discussing the Second World War. And since it's a very recent event and many of you were too young to remember anything, I decided to make it more interesting and do a work in couples. Open your textbooks and develop all the questions on page 148. We'll discuss them at the end of the class. Oh! And you can pair up with whoever you want, as long as you work."

As soon as he finished talking, John felt something had kicked his seat. Not a difficult deduction, he turned to look at Sherlock who was staring at him with a smile in his face. "Pair up with me,  Johnny boy?"

And John should have said no, he should have looked for another pair and work with that person, because he had to put a stop to Sherlock, but his excitement was bigger than his will and he nodded excitedly, moving his desk towards the greaser's. He didn't stop for a second to consider his options, he didn't think wether this was a good idea of not, he just moved and smiled widely.

"Alright, we have lots of things to learn today." Sherlock said nonchalantly, as John sat right next to him. Mr Hikes was sitting on the desk and didn't seem to be bothered by the noise, which allowed John and Sherlock to talk as much as they wanted to, which was great.

"Oh, yes, yes we do. Do you want to start with the first questions? The last ones seem easier, but it's okay if you-"

"No, no, no." Sherlock said moving his head spontaneously. "I'm not talking about the War."

John frowned. "Then what are you talking about?"

"Rock n' Roll, of course!" Sherlock said excitedly.

"What?"

"Well, since you think Elvis is black... And Mozart is better, I decided I had to share my extensive knowledge on the topic with you. It's the best I can do to help you get out of the ignorance you're stuck in."

John chuckled. "My ignorance?"

"Of course, John. You may know lots of things about everything, but you certainly know nothing about music."

"Oh really? And how do you think you are going to teach me about it?"

Sherlock turned and took a frankly outstanding amount of magazines out of his bag, putting them on John's desk. _Song Hits_ Magazine. "I think this will help." Sherlock said with a smile.

"Are... All of this yours?"

"I don't lie when I say I love music Johnny boy."

"And why did you bring them?"

"Well, for you, of course."

John smiled as he took the first magazine and opened it curiously, but Sherlock stopped him and closed it, pointing at the cover of it. "This...is Elvis." He said slowly as if he was teaching the alphabet to a three-year old, looking fixedly at John.

"Wow! This is Elvis? He is not at all as I imagined him!"

Sherlock scoffed. "Well, you imagined he was black so..."

"Are you ever going to let that go?"

"No, not really. It was the most absurd that I've ever heard, therefore it will be stuck with me forever."

John gave a exasperate sigh and moved his hands in the air. "Alright, I'm sorry!"

Sherlock frowned and looked at him seriously. "Sorry? What for?"

"For being so naïve!"

Sherlock relaxed his face and smile. "Oh, no need to apologize, John. That's what I'm here for."

"May I say I'm a little terrified?"

"What of?"

"Messing up again and finding another excuse for you to laugh of me for the rest of your life..."

Sherlock laughed, "Well, John, you always run that risk. I promise that I won't be too harsh on you this time."

John looked at the picture of Elvis on the cover of the magazine. "Wow. I can see why Harry loves him so much, and she doesn't even like boys!"

Sherlock smiled widely and spent the rest of the class teaching John about new artists and songs and LPs, and John decided he had never enjoyed a History class as much as he enjoyed this.

"...And that is Buddy Holly and The Crickets."

"Oh yes! Harry loves that man!"

And while they were talking about the artists, Mr Hikes stood up and started moving from desk to desk, asking the couples to show him what they had done during the class. John threw a concerned glance at Sherlock, who was reading one of the articles in the magazines. "Damn it, Sherlock!"

"What?"

"Mr Hikes is checking the work we did during the class."

"Oh great, you could teach him some things about Rock n' Roll. Seems like he needs to learn them too." Sherlock said smiling sarcastically.

"No, seriously, what are we going to do?"

"There's nothing we can do, John. We can't solve 25 questions in ten seconds. So I recommend you relax and act normal when he comes."

The problem was that for John acting normal was pretty much worrying about grades and school, so Sherlock's advise didn't help at all. He turned to look at the greaser, who was looking at the magazine, and he was so relaxed, how could he not care at all?

"Mr Watson and Mr Holmes. Interesting pair. Let me see your work." Mr Hikes said, holding a pen in his hand and looking defiantly at John, who was shaking.

"Hm... We- I'm sorry sir, we didn't do anything."

Mr Hikes threw them a questioning look, which terrified John to the very core. The greaser looked at John and smiled. He put the magazine down and turned to talk to Mr Hikes. "Well, what John wants to say is that we didn't write anything in our notebook, but we _did_ discuss the questions, you could ask us anything about the topic and we would certainly answer you. Just because we didn't write it, it doesn't mean we didn't know it." Sherlock looked so confident and was talking in such a nice way that John thought for a moment the strategy had worked and the man wouldn't punish them. But he was wrong.

Mr Hikes answered looking very calm. "Nice try, Mr Holmes. But I don't believe in a single one of your words. Starting by the fact you are reading something that holds absolutely no relation to the topic we are discussing today."

Sherlock took the magazines and put them quickly back on the bag. "Sorry."

"Yes. You will be this afternoon, when you two stay after lunch shaking the erasers. Is that clear?"

Sherlock nodded but John had to argue, "I'm sorry sir, I can't, I have to go to Chemistry club."

"Well, that's a shame Watson, you should have thought about it before. I hope you reflect it while you do your punishment." John nodded.

As soon as the teacher passed to the next desk, John turned to look at Sherlock, who took the magazines out of the bag again and continued reading one of them. "Sherlock!"

"What?"

"We just got a detention!" John said as if the worst thing which could possibly happen happened.

"Yes, so I heard."

"And what are we going to do?" 

"About what?" Sherlock said looking annoyed.

"It's the first time I get a detention! I've never shaken an eraser before! God! I will miss Chemistry club!"

"Exciting, isn't it?" Sherlock said without taking his eyes off the magazine.

John frowned and looked at Sherlock, confused. "What could possibly be exciting?"

"There's a first time for everything, Johnny boy."

"I'm sorry, I don't find anything exciting about this." John said, shaking his head.

The bell rang and Sherlock stood up and grabbed his bag. He turned to look at John. "But you will. See you after lunch." He said winking at him. 

\-----------------------

John left the classroom thinking of the huge mistake he had made, and this definitely was the wake up call, because in just one week he had already broken the rules twice, and it was all Sherlock's fault! He might enjoy spending time with the greaser, but this was getting out of his hands. Now, more than ever, he had to put a stop to this. 

So he convinced himself he was going to talk to Sherlock after the lunch and tell him that even though he had lots of fun with him, they could no longer be friends, or whatever they were, and that would certainly be it.

He was walking through the halls, thinking about what to say to the greaser, when someone held him from behind, tightly. John was surprised and then he realized he couldn't move his arms and he could barely stand, so whoever it was holding him was incredibly strong. He was trying to turn when he heard a familiar voice.

"Don't try to run, nerd." 

It was Jim, definitely. He would have recognized that voice anywhere. "Let me go!"

Then Jim approached to him, smiling. "Sebastian, push him towards the lockers." 

And Sebastian did, and John felt his back clinch in pain as soon as he hit the lockers loudly, then Sebastian grabbed John's glasses and threw them to the floor. John couldn't see anything. At all. "What the hell?" He said trying to stand up.

"Oh Johnny boy, you're so desperate it's pathetic." Jim said leaning close to his ear. "You're dying to be a greaser, aren't you?"

"No. I don't." John said honestly, but his voice came lower than he thought, probably because the pain in his back and his head was bigger. "I really, _really_ don't."

"I don't believe you." Jim said shaking his head. "You know what I think? I think you're desperate for attention, for being _someone,_ for having friends. But I'm sorry, we don't do any favors."

"I told you, I'm not interested in that!"

"Let me just give you a warning, Johnny boy. Stop messing with us, leave Sherlock alone, and stop pretending you will become one of us, because that will _never_ happen. You will _always_ be a loser and nothing is going to change that. Just a friendly advise from our behalf."

"Friendly?" John said looking at Jim, even though he barely noticed a silhouette, he couldn't see at all without his glasses.

He did hear someone approaching. And John could tell just by the way he walked it definitely was Sherlock. And he felt a pinch of relief. Sherlock walked slowly towards Jim, looking at John.

"Careful, Jim." He said seriously.

Jim widened his eyes. "What? You are defending him now?"

Sherlock snorted. "Don't be silly. It's just that... He has to work with me in this history project and I need the brain intact if I expect a good grade."

John frowned, he couldn't believe Sherlock was actually saying that.

Jim lifted his eyebrow and turned to look at John, who was still sitting against the lockers, rubbing his back and not being able to see properly. "Fine. Just wanted to give him a message anyway. Let's go Sebastian. Joining, Holmes?"

"Sure." Sherlock said and actually left with them and John was trying to process his thoughts, his pain (both physically and emotionally) and his anger, because right now, it was the strongest feeling. Not towards Jim, not towards Sebastian, not even towards Sherlock but towards him, for being so incredibly stupid. 

He was sitting there when he heard someone running towards him, he looked up and he saw a blurry Sherlock, lifting his chin and examining his face, looking at it carefully. John took Sherlock's hand away and stood up by himself. Though it really hurt.

"Are you okay, John?" 

"Yes" John nodded, trying to find his glasses and avoiding the eye contact with the greaser.

Sherlock bent and picked them up and carefully placed them on John's face. "Here. Can you see me now?"

"You can go. Your friends are waiting for you."

"I told them I had to pick some stuff at the locker and they left. I was worried about you. Are you sure you're okay? Do you want me to take you to the nurse or something?"

Sherlock had his eyes fixed on him and he genuinely looked concerned, but John shook the thought away and moved his head. "No."

"Then tell me what I can do, please." 

"Leave me alone! Leave me in peace! It's the only thing you can do to help now!" John shouted, and Sherlock stood still, staring at him, then he frowned.

"What? John, I-"

"Look, just leave me in peace once and for all. That's all I need, to be as far away from you as possible!"

After staying silent for a moment, Sherlock turned to look at John and placed his hand on his cheek and suddenly John shuddered and forgot what he was angry about and never wanted to let go of that hand. "I am sorry, John."

But then John realized he was being an absolute idiot for believing in Sherlock Holmes, for thinking it was possible something could happen between them, for trusting him and he was angry again. He took Sherlock's hand away from his face and looked at him seriously. "Just go back to your friends and leave me alone."

"But John, I'm really sorry. Please, believe me."

"No, nothing to apologize. It's true. All of it. You will always be the greaser and I am just... John."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"That there is no room for friendship, there's no room for anything, actually, between the two of us. And it's okay, it's the way things have to be."

Sherlock was silent and just kept staring at John, which made all of this a hundred times more difficult. He wanted to hold his face, to hold his hair, to hold his hand. He wanted to be with him. But it couldn't be. It never would. And he turned and left.

But he felt his arm being grabbed and he was forced to face the greaser again. His face flinched as he felt pain in his back. "Sorry, but you have to listen to me, John."

"What?"

"Jim didn't hurt you?" Sherlock's eyes examined every inch of John's body, and he felt so exposed, so vulnerable, so small.

John replied, sighing loudly. "I told you, I'm fine, and what do you care anyway?"

"Of course I care." Sherlock said, nodding.

"Well, you shouldn't, you started this."

"I... What?" The greaser threw a confused glance at John.

"I was perfectly okay with being a nerd and worrying only about classes and it didn't seem to bother anyone until you came and threatened me and made my life a mess! And now everyone thinks they can mess with me and kick my ass. And it's all because of you. So don't pretend to care. Because this is all on you." John had to let it out, but it was too painful. 

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something and then closed it. Then opened it again and looked down. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Greasers are never sorry. Go back to your friends,they must be missing you. Now leave me alone. Please. I have to go to classes now. Goodbye, Holmes."

Sherlock loosened the grab of John's arm and looked at him , unable to say anything. John fixed his sweater and his glasses and continued along the hall, forcing himself not to look at Sherlock, who was still motionless in front of the lockers. His back was killing him. At least things were crystal clear now. Nothing was ever going to happen and he put a stop to Sherlock and it was all fine, except for his back and his head ache, but at least now everything was clarified. That was the way it was supposed to be, right? Then why did it hurt so much?

He let out a sigh and continued walking, wondering if Sherlock was still behind.


	9. Since I Don't Have You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I will always see the façade with you."

Sherlock had never needed a cigarette as desperately as he needed it now. Not even when he fought with Mycroft, not even when his parents pretended to care about him, not even when he was blamed for the accident. All of it was nothing compared to the anxiety that was reaching all over his body, claiming him to go get a smoke. He had to.

He arrived to the corner of the building where teachers rarely passed by when he found Jim, Sebastian and Greg. Both Jim and Sebastian were laughing while Greg just rolled his eyes at them and smoked silently. Sherlock felt the anger rising to his head and he wanted to kick Jim's ass. Because this was all his freaking fault. Now everything was ruined. 

Sherlock considered his options, and he hated facing those fuckers people called his friends, yet he needed a cigarette _so_ badly. He approached to them, clinched his fists and lit up the cigarette without saluting them.

Jim smiled widely when he saw Sherlock and he looked so calmed and cool and _how could he look so calm and cool after hitting the most incredible boy in school?_ Sherlock wondered. "Hey! What took you so long, scorch? You said you were just going to the locker..."

"Why do you care? Back off and let me live!" Sherlock said without looking at Jim, he just stared at the bricked wall of the back of the school, as he kept sucking up his cigarette.

Jim stood silent, but Sebastian did reply. "Wow, what's your bag, man? Jesus, chill!"

But Sherlock couldn't chill and what Sebastian had just said only made things worse. Yet he _had_ to pretend everything was fine because if he didn't, people would start suspecting the real cause of his anger towards his so called friends: John Watson. He was the root of all problems, the mystery. But now everything was ruined and he had left things very clear: _Fuck off. And leave me alone._

_"_ There's nothing wrong! I just want to smoke a fucking cigarette without the company of three idiots who do nothing but pick on the weak ones because it makes them feel strong. How pathetic." Whoops. His anger was bigger than his will.

"Hey! I wasn't there!" Greg complained.

Jim turned to face Sherlock and looked at him up and down, before replying. "I don't understand what you're fighting about. You were the one who drove the boy into our path."

He stood silent, asking himself why the hell did everybody seemed to think this was all his freaking fault? He remembered John's words and realized it was accurate: he was okay until he met Sherlock. Of course. Of course it was all his fault, and John was right. It couldn't be, whatever it was, and they had to stay as apart from each other as possible. It was the best thing to do, the only thing to do.

"...Yes Sherlock! You gave us your blessing to mess with the kiddo, now don't come here pretending to be his savior!" Sebastian yelled.

Sherlock threw his cigarette to the floor because he felt sick. He looked at his three "friends", stepped on the cigarette and turned to walk away, when Greg's shout stopped him. "Wait, where are you going?"

"I just want to be by myself, okay?" Sherlock said trying not to sound annoyed and tired and stressful and full of guilt, but it didn't work.

"Dude, chill." Sebastian said throwing his hands in the air.

"I want to be alone!" He said sighing exasperated. 

"What the actual fuck? What is your problem?" Sebastian said, clearly getting annoyed, he was about to come closer to Sherlock when Moriarty stopped him, putting his hand on his chest.

"You heard the boy, leave him alone." Jim said calmly, his eyes fixed on Sherlock.

Sherlock turned and walked away and he had never felt angrier with himself. Of course it was his fault, all of this had been his fault from the very beginning.

\---------------------

It was the third period and John's back was still hurting and he was still angry but somehow couldn't manage to get the greaser out of his head. He still felt the warmth of his hands touching his face, the worry in his voice as he asked him if he was alright, the way he looked at him, and it looked so, _so_ real. But it wasn't true. Of course it wasn't. The Sherlock who was a jerk and a bully and had his friends was the real Sherlock, not the nice boy John thought he had met underneath him. That one didn't exist. It was just a disguise. A joke. That was what he was for the greaser: a joke.

And then he remembered something that made his day even worse: the detention. _Damn it!_ He had to go clean erasers _with_ Sherlock! After the incident of that morning he had only one thought in his mind: to get away from him as much as possible, to remain only as work partners, because they were _forced_ to, not because they _wanted_ to. That was the way it was supposed to be. But the detention was not helping now. 

He sighed as he took out his biology book. Not even his favorite class made him feel any different, any better, and he was sad, no, not really sad. He was angry, no, not really angry. He couldn't figure out what it really was, until he realized: he was just disappointed. And no, not at Sherlock. At him. For allowing Sherlock, the bloody idiot, to enter to his life, to change him, to make him happier. No, not happy. Different. Irreparably different.

The class went by and he didn't understand a single thing his teacher explained, but he didn't care (which showed him how much Sherlock had changed him in such a short period of time) and then it came: the bell. Lunch. One hour before detention. He was nervous but he had absolutely no idea what he was nervous about. And damn it. He couldn't still get Sherlock out of his head.

He decided the best thing for him to do was to pretend everything was normal and alright and smile while he felt bad inside. So he sat with Mike and his friends at the table. He couldn't help but glare quickly towards the popular table, a.k.a the _greaser_ table. Harry was there, laughing. Probably she had no idea of what Jim had done to her brother, she wouldn't have allowed that. And then it was Jim. Serious, focused, not listening to any of them. Sebastian looked at him worriedly, Greg was just eating his lunch without doing any comments and not a single sign of Sherlock.

John smiled, because he knew this was the moment when the greaser spent time by himself and read books he liked and seemed genuinely happy. He never looked happy when with Jim and Sebastian and Greg. Not like that. Not like he looked when he was alone, not like he looked when he was with John.

And a pinch of hope got to John's chest but he shook it away quickly. He didn't want to see Sherlock. He didn't. And he only went to that freaking detention because he _had_ to, and it had been all Sherlock's fault. All his problems had been Sherlock's fault. 

He tried his best not to stand up and run towards the chair which somehow became their place of reunion, because he missed Sherlock so badly. He was clenching his fists when turned his face, and saw Mike looking at him worriedly. "Mate, are you alright?"

"Yes, yes. Just a little _sad? Heartbroken? Disappointed?_... Tired."

"We all are. But hey, take it easy. School has just started." He said patting his shoulder.

And that thought hit John: it really _had_ been least than a month and he felt like a lifetime ago since he met Sherlock, the boy who turned everything upside down and who in four weeks had gotten him in more trouble than he ever had before. Damn it. "Yes, I guess, it's just... It's too much, Mike."

"What is?" Mike asked, quizzically.

"All of this, school, decisions, future, people." _Sherlock_ he thought. "And I thought I would start this year and everything would be clear, bright, defined. But now it just seems lost, abstract and shapeless. That's what future looks like for me."

"Hey, don't say that John!" Mike said cheerfully, his tone trying to make John feel better but it wasn't working. "You still have plenty of time to figure everything out, you love medicine, you could be a doctor."

"I don't know Mike. I don't even know if I like it or not. I just feel like I lost all the motivation I ever had and I can't get it back" he said playing with his food hesitantly, not looking at Mike but not looking across from him, to the popular table, and not towards the door, where Sherlock was, maybe waiting for him? No. Of course not.

The bell rang and damn it. He sighed as he stood up and told himself to be strong enough to ignore Sherlock completely. Obviously Sherlock would do that too. Great. Mike smiled at him. "Chemistry time, huh?"

"Nope." John said with a fake smile.

Mike frowned, "then what?"

"Detention." He said picking up his tray and ignoring Mike, who looked at him surprised. 

"What?" Mike said half-amused half-terrified.

"Detention." John repeated without looking at him.

"May I ask what were you, John Watson doing to get a detention?"

He was about to answer but then he remembered Sherlock and Jim and all of it and he decided it was best not to. "You may not." He said smiling, a _fake_ smile. "I'll explain later. Not a good story though."

"So you are off to shake erasers..." Mike said with a laugh.

"Best plan ever." John said trying to be sarcastic and hiding his annoyance. "See you later, mate."

"Hey! Cheer up. This is just starting."

"That's exactly what I'm worried about. Bye." He said walking towards the door. He heard choked laughters coming from he greasers table as he passed them, but he decided it was best to ignore them, and he kept walking until he was away from the cafeteria.

He turned the corner, _that_ corner and gathered all the courage he could to look at Sherlock. He was sitting in the chair, but his book was closed, he wasn't reading, he looked like he was waiting. John then turned to look at somewhere else, while all he thought was _don't look at him, don't look at him._ Sherlock stood up as soon as he saw the boy walking down the hall, and hurried towards him. "John!"

But John just kept walking and passed him by completely ignoring him. Sherlock frowned and shouted even louder, even though he was very close from the boy. "JOHN!" 

He didn't turn. He kept walking, the hall seemed endless.

Sherlock stood still for a while, until he saw John vanish from his sight.

\-------------------

"Hello, sir." John said sighing as soon as he saw Hikes sitting in the desk, checking the papers they had delivered during the class. The project. 

Hikes turned to look at John and smiled. "Oh, hello, Mr. Watson. Very punctual. Good. Where is Holmes?"

"I don't know. He must get here soon." He said seriously. 

"Alright. Look." The old man said, standing up and taking a bag of erasers he was keeping under the table. "Those are the ones you are going to shake. The reason why I'm doing this is because you _need_ to know that an action always brings it consequences and you have to do the right choice always. Always. You look like a smart boy, but you have to do the right choices if you want to get somewhere." John nodded absentmindedly.

Then Sherlock entered, looking cool, confident, relaxed and calm, which was the complete opposite from John. He had his hands in his pockets and smiled (fake smile, as John recognized immediately) at the teacher, who just looked at Sherlock and nodded.

"Alright, I'll leave you up to it. I'll be coming regularly to check on you two. If you need anything, I'll be sitting at the teacher's lounge, checking the project proposals." He said as he stood up and left. _Here it comes now, the hard part._ John thought, and he was definitely not referring to shaking the erasers.

As soon as the door was closed Sherlock approached him and he was near, so incredibly near, and John couldn't avoid the eye contact, his green/blue/grey eyes fixed on him. He tried his best not to react. "I need to talk to you."

"Nothing to talk about, Holmes." John said, looking down to avoid Sherlock's gaze. Then he turned to pick up two erasers and started hitting them together, and he started coughing like crazy. _Great, now I can't breathe and Sherlock Holmes is in front of me and I'm coughing and this is so embarrassing._ John could only think about it as the cough attack passed. 

Sherlock took John's erasers and smiled, then he pulled them away and returned his hands to hold John's and suddenly he forgot how to breathe, but for a completely different reason. "No, no John. You need to open the windows before, or you will get us both asphyxiated!" He said smiling widely.

John looked at Sherlock for a moment in which he wasn't able to say anything, all he wanted to do was look at him forever and keep holding those cold, long hands, but then he remembered, " _I need the brain intact if I expect a good grade."_ Damn it. Painful.

He shook his hands off Sherlock's hold and turned, the greaser's smile suddenly vanished. "Fine. I'll get them opened." John said without looking at Sherlock and walking towards the big windows of Hikes' classroom.

"John. I mean it. I need to talk to you. Please, listen." Sherlock said with that deep, captivating voice.

"Do I have any other choice, Holmes?" John said, still looking at the windows.

"Stop it." Sherlock said shaking his head.

"Stop what?"

John heard the steps as Sherlock came closer to him, but he didn't turn, he didn't react, he felt secure standing right next to the window. "Don't call me Holmes. You know I'm Sherlock for you. And please, let me explain."

"I don't see a reason to refer to you, my work partner, as just Sherlock. I think it's better to stick with Holmes"

"You and I know I'm not just your 'work partner' as you so classily call it"

"Then what are you?" John said turning to look at Sherlock. "What do you and I know you are to me, according to you?"

Sherlock stood silent, looking confused, then he frowned. "Your...friend?"

John sneered. "My _friend?_ That's how you treat your friends? Then no, thank you!" He said trying to hide the bitterness he was feeling.

"I care about you, John! I do. You're not just an ordinary friend for me, Johnny boy. Believe me." 

John shook his head, he was red with anger. "No. Sorry. I don't believe you. I don't believe this is the _real_ you! Do you know who I do believe is the _real_ you? That boy who stood silent and quiet while I was being beaten and pushed against the lockers. Yes. That one _does_ look like Sherlock Holmes. I do buy that Sherlock Holmes."

"What was I supposed to do?" Sherlock said exasperated, throwing his hands in the air. 

"I don't know. What are friends supposed to do for each other?"

"I don't know, you are the only one I have." Sherlock said so innocently, looking so honest, so truthful, that John felt the need to hold him, to hug him, to touch him. But no.

He stood silent. "Well, I don't know either. So it's better not to have friends and not mess up, right?"

"No." Sherlock said shaking his head and grabbing John by his arm. "I refuse to do that, I won't lose you. I _can't_ lose you. I refuse to let you go."

"I'm not going anywhere, I'm still stuck in detention." John said trying to ignore Sherlock's hands holding his arm so tenderly, so lovingly.

"You know what I mean, John. And I won't let it happen. No. I can't just pretend I never knew you. Because everything changed."

"Well, I think that's the best thing we can do." John said moving his arms, loosing from Sherlock's hold. "Just work partners. As it was always meant to be."

"I don't want you just as a work partner, John." 

"Then what do you want from me?" John said looking directly into Sherlock's eyes, moving his hands through the air.

"I don't want anything from you, I just want _you_!" Sherlock shouted.

John stopped moving his hands and stood silent, looking at the greaser, and he looked so honest, so real. But no. He ignored what he just heard and told himself that _of course_ it had to be a mistake. "We have work to do. We better get on to it." He said as he moved to take the two erasers laying on the floor.

Sherlock took them off him and stared at John, looking very serious. "You heard me. Stop pretending you didn't."

"I did. I just don't want to reply. I just don't. So I'll shake the erasers instead and shut up and so will you."

Sherlock smiled and looked at John up and down. "That is not an option."

"I believe it is."

Sherlock shook his head. "No. You refuse to reply because you _know_ that's exactly how you feel and that's exactly what you wanted to hear. And I'm saying it, I'm unveiling it."

John just shook his head. "I still see the façade, Sherlock. I will always see the façade with you. I will never get anything else."

"I disagree." 

And Sherlock leaned closer, so close John could almost feel his lips, and his hands were cupping his face again and he missed that hold so much, he was becoming addicted to it, and he could do nothing but close his eyes. And he wanted to let go.  But then he remembered Hikes' wise words: make the right choice, but which one was it? " _I need the brain intact if I expect a good grade."_ There was the answer.

"No." John said taking Sherlock's hands off him. "Just no, Sherlock. I can't." He was afraid this was his last chance with Sherlock. He thought the greaser would turn and walk towards the door and leave forever, away from John's life.

Instead, Sherlock just shrugged. "At least you called me Sherlock, Johnny boy. So we're getting somewhere." He said winking at him and John just couldn't be mad at him. It was impossible.

"Shut up." John said smiling.

"Make me." Sherlock said looking at John defiantly and talking in that low, seductive tone the bastard knew how to pull so well.

But instead of a kiss, Sherlock felt one of the erasers hitting his black leather jacket, and suddenly everything was white and John was coughing while he laughed and well... Sherlock's jacket was ruined. 

Sherlock opened his eyes wide and looked at John. "You are going to pay for that."

And John had a flashback to the first time they met and he thought the greaser had finally recovered his sanity and he was expecting the punch, but then all he felt was the eraser hitting on his face, and he was blind. Well, there was chalk all over his glasses, so he was disabled.

John laughed, taking his glasses off and cleaning them with his sweater. "Can we please behave like normal people, _please_?"

Sherlock smiled while he shook his jacket, "I refuse to do that as much as I refuse to let you go."

"Fair enough." John said, wondering on the inside if he really had made the right choice or not.


	10. All Shook Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...it was you!"

When John and Sherlock realized, it was already 4:00 p.m, which meant Mr Hikes wouldn't take long to come and release them from detention. Not that they were bored, actually, John thought he couldn't call a time when he had that much fun as that moment. They were shaking the erasers, but they stopped frequently to throw them to the other one and clean themselves as they laughed, they also got to talk a lot, and John forgot completely of how mad he had been with Sherlock few hours ago.

They were shaking the last couple of erasers when Hikes entered. "Holmes, Watson. Take a seat."

John felt terrified at Hikes' tone. They sat down.

Hikes took out John and Sherlock's paper and John swallowed and took a deep breath. _We lost it. He hated it. Now what are we going to do?_ His brain was unstoppable.

"...I read your paper."

"And?" Sherlock said, looking at him expectantly.

Hikes hinted a small smile and said. "It was very good. I wanted to congratulate you. I like the choice of topic and the way you've decided to approach to it. Very good job, I have to admit I had my doubts at the beginning, but you justified the choice of topic correctly, and I just wanted to let you now. You certainly work good together."

John smiled and turned to look at Sherlock, who winked at him. John tried to stop the whirlwind of thoughts drowning his mind after the wink and focused on listening to the teacher. "... You've certainly progressed on the final project with this first draft, so, there's a lot of work left but if you continue down this road, you'll do very, very well."

Sherlock looked even more amazed than John. The greaser mumbled. "Thank you, sir."

"You can go now. But you better work the next time I put an activity in couples. Understood?"

John nodded, Sherlock didn't say a thing, he just stood up and left.

Hikes stood up and so did John, who shook his hand and said "Goodbye, sir. Thank you, and again, I apologize."

As he left just after Hikes he realized Sherlock was nowhere near to be seen. He frowned. He had no idea why, but he was expecting to see the greaser waiting for him by the lockers. He felt a little disappointed.

"Looking for someone, Johnny boy?" He felt a whisper in his ear and turned to look at who it was, when he saw Sherlock right behind him. How had he done that?

"Yes... There's this boy I have to work with and he is _so_ annoying..." John said with a smile.

Sherlock frowned. "Oh? He is? Well, if I had to tell you about the boy I have to work with, he is a real pain in the ass."

"Hey!" John protested, smiling.

"You started it!" Sherlock chuckled.

"So, we did good..."

"Obviously."

"You sound so confident, Sherlock. How can you be so sure of every damn thing? How can you be so relaxed? Things just happen to work out for you!"

"Not quite, Johnny boy. But there _is_ one aspect that _has_ worked out really well."

"What?" John asked quizzically.

"Hikes is right, you know?"

"About what?"

"You and I work _very_ good _together._ " Sherlock said with a smile.

John smiled back. "I wouldn't be so sure about that."

"Let's do something to celebrate." Sherlock said so naturally, turning to walk towards the door.

John felt a little intimidated, but followed the greaser. "Something like what?"

"Coffee?"

"Seriously?"

Sherlock turned to look at John. "What is so absurd about coffee?"

"The coffee shops are too far away, Sherlock."

"We'll walk." Sherlock said smiling.

"But I have my car parked in here, we could go in it."

"I want to walk with you. Is it really that unusual?"

"Well, yes. But I got used to you being unusual. Let's go then."

\---------------------

After a long walk they finally arrived to a cafeteria which was definitely not John's style at all. At the entrance, it was decorated with a big car, and Rock n' Roll sounded strenuously and there was also a black and white tiled dance floor with lots of people dancing to that music. He turned to look at Sherlock with displease, but the greaser's face was lighting up. John smiled.

"Don't worry, we just came for the coffee. As soon as they give it to us, we'll leave." Sherlock told John as soon as he saw his face.

"No, really, it's okay. We can stay, if you want to."

"I know you're uncomfortable Johnny boy. Maybe I'll bring you here someday later, when you enjoy more of Rock n' Roll."

"I hate to disappoint you, but I don't think I ever will." John said, shaking his head, frowning and speaking louder because the jukebox was incredibly loud.

Sherlock smiled and ordered the coffees, and as soon as they were delivered, they left. John could tell by the greaser's expression that he wanted to stay there, and he was tempted to leave him there, but he wanted to spend as much time with Sherlock as possible.

They started walking back to school, drinking their coffees in silence. Surprisingly, it wasn't an awkward silence, it was very comfortable, but John felt the need to break it and actually say something. "We could have stayed, you know?"

"Hmm?" Sherlock said turning to look at him.

"I mean, I would have stayed there, if you wanted me to."

"You would?" Sherlock said incredulously.

"Well, for you, I would." John smiled.

Sherlock smiled and then shook his head "To be honest, I was afraid you would have ended up saying something as silly as the black Elvis. That's why I decided to leave." Sherlock said laughing.

John looked at him, certainly not amused. "That joke is getting old."

"Oh no, I think in fifty years it will still be funny."

"I think in fifty years people won't know who the hell was Elvis."

Sherlock widened his eyes and choked. "You take that back, right now, John Watson!"

"I won't, Sherlock Holmes. What will you do about it?"

And in that moment John realized how much this had changed with the greaser, two weeks ago, he would have never dared to say something like this, but now, somehow, he _trusted_   Sherlock.

The greaser stopped his pace, forcing John to do so too, smiled, put the coffees in the ground and came closer to John, who looked at him questioningly. Next thing John knew he felt the greaser's fingers on his body and he started laughing. Tickles.

"No! No! No!" John said between laughters. "Stop it right now! It's an order!"

Sherlock laughed too. "I won't stop, _soldier_ , 'til you take it back!"

John couldn't stop laughing. "No. I won't take it back!"

"Fine, I'll keep tickling you. I could do this forever." Sherlock said with a smile.

"Alright, alright!" John said still laughing. "I take it back!"

The tickles stopped and John realized he missed the touch of Sherlock's fingers in his body, also they were standing so close John could feel the warmth of Sherlock's jacket. "You take _what_ back?"

John sighed, "I take back what I said about Elvis." He said, not daring to make eye contact with the greaser. He chose instead to look at his chest, at the white t-shirt under the leather jacket, at the collar bones and... "Is that a scar?" He said touching the mark which was barely perceivable, right next to his collar bones.

Sherlock flinched. John retired his hand immediately. "Sorry."

"No, it's okay. It doesn't hurt. It's just... I hate it."

"But it is very recent, Sherlock. I'd say two or three months ago."

Sherlock smiled bitterly, looking down at John. "See? You'd be a great doctor."

"Can I ask you what happened?"

"An accident, Johnny boy. Someone crashed my car, I was leaving a party, but I swear I wasn't drunk, and the next thing I knew a paramedic was taking me off the driver's seat and I was being taken to the hospital and I woke up two days later with this scar."

"But you're okay now, right? Does it hurt?"

"I'm fine. I mean, sometimes my leg hurts a bit but it will get better, eventually."

"So that's why you can't drive!"

"Well, my parents say that everything was my fault and that I was lucky and blah blah blah. So they threw the punch where it hurt the most. They forbade me using the car." He said rolling his eyes.

"And since when do you follow the rules?" John said with a smile.

"I don't, but now I get terrified every time I'm about to step close to a car. So I prefer not tempting the destiny."

John smiled, but suddenly he widened his eyes and looked at Sherlock with a frown, as if he had just realized of something. "Wait. Sherlock, when did you say it happened?"

"Three months ago."

"...and you were leaving a party."

"Downtown. By New Vine."

John looked at Sherlock suspiciously. "What was your car, Sherlock?"

Sherlock flinched and looked down, then let out a sigh as if he was going to talk about something painful. "Oh. My car. I miss my rocket. I miss it so bad. It was my birthday present. 16th birthday. And no more no less than a Cadillac! ElDorado, 1954. Beautiful. It was completely useless after the accident. My parents sold it as junk. That, of all things about that accident, is what hurts me the most, that I lost my companion."

Sherlock turned to looked at John but the boy seemed to be merged in thought. "Black Cadillac?" John asked, turning his head and looking at Sherlock questioningly.

"Black Cadillac." Sherlock said with a nod.

Of course it was the Black Cadillac. The black Cadillac he had seen completely destroyed three months ago.

John closed his eyes and laid his head on Sherlock's chest while he mumbled something the greaser couldn't quite hear. Then John started talking a bit louder. "...it was you!"

Sherlock frowned. "It was me what?"

John shook his head and kept repeating. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Sherlock."

"What? What are you sorry about?"

John moved his head away from Sherlock's chest and said lowly and bitterly. "It was Harry."

"What?" Sherlock frowned.

"Harry was the one who caused the accident! God I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. You were the one in the ambulance. God Sherlock, she almost killed you."

John kept shaking his head and trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to come down fiercely. Because he remembered, he remembered the moment they got the call from the policeman and they arrived to the place where a car stood half-destroyed while their car seemed to be good, and Harry was so wasted she couldn't even remember her name. One of the first things that came to his mind whenever he remembered the accident was that person who was entering to the ambulance, eyes closed, bleeding, who seemed like wasn't going to make it. And now the memory seemed unbearable because it was Sherlock and he almost lost Sherlock and it was all his sister's fault.

Sherlock took John by his shoulders and leaned him closer to him. The boy felt again his head against the greaser's chest and he focused in hearing his heartbeat. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Hey!" Sherlock said, padding John's hair. "It's okay. You have nothing to apologize for. I'm fine, I'm here. I'm with you."

"Yes, but I almost lost you without even meeting you, and all because of my sister!"

"Don't worry, John. You didn't do anything wrong. You couldn't avoid it from happening. It's not your fault."

"I'm just...I'm just..." And then the tears started falling, and John couldn't stop them, they rolled on and on down Sherlock's t-shirt, and he just had to let it all out.

"Shh...shh...it's okay." Sherlock whispered, refusing to let go of John's hold.

"I'm tired of this. My parents don't seem to care, and she is only getting worse and worse and I can't help her. And I feel... Powerless."

They stood like that for a long time, John couldn't tell how much it had been, but when he felt a little better, he wiped off his tears and loosened from Sherlock's hold. The greaser took him by the hand and said. "Come on, let's go back to school."

John nodded and they continued their road.

\--------------------

"Are you sure you're okay?" Sherlock asked John as soon as they arrived back to the school. John had been silent all the way back and Sherlock just kept looking at him worriedly.

"Are you sure _you_ are okay?" John said, turning to look at Sherlock.

Sherlock gave him a reassuring smile and a nod. "I'm fine. The accident was long time ago, I just... I miss driving my rocket, listening to rock n' roll, feeling invincible. But it's fine."

John turned to look at Sherlock. "Sherlock! You _drove_ to my house to take Harry, remember? Why did you do that? You were drunk! Something could have happened!"

"I know, I know! But I was drunk and I just wanted to see you and I couldn't come up with a better excuse. So I was terrified, but it felt so good. I love driving, John. I do."

John stood, thinking for a moment. "Come on."

"Where?"

"To my car. You'll drive. But just this once, alright?"

Sherlock's face lit up. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure."

"Do you trust me that much, Johnny boy?"

"Of course I do."

When they arrived to the car, Sherlock threw another glance at John, standing, about to open the door, but not quite. "Are you sure?"

John smiled. "Am I going to regret it?"

"I don't think so."

"Then yes, I'm sure. Now get in there fast before I change my mind!"

"Fine! Fine!"

They entered to the car. Sherlock sat on the driver's seat. The driver's seat. Again. He touched the steering wheel carefully, and took a deep breath. John stared at him and smiled, wondering how could he be so lucky of having Sherlock Holmes in his car?

Sherlock turned it on, then turned on the radio and looked at John. "Do you mind?"

John shook his head. "Not at all. You can put whatever you want."

"Rock n' roll, then."

And John didn't really mind, because Sherlock was there and he was with him and it was incredible.

"So, your house, of course." John said.

"Of course." Sherlock said with a smile.

After a long time of riding, John realized that the road didn't seem at all like the one he had taken to get to Sherlock's house. "Wait, wait ,wait. Sherlock! Where are we going?"

Sherlock smiled widely. "It took you too long to realize, Johnny boy!"

"Where are we going? Damn it! I knew you would do something like this!"

"Of course I would do something like this! Now shut up and enjoy of the road without asking me anything else."

"Just one more question."

Sherlock sighed. "Fine."

"Are you going to kidnap me?"

Sherlock laughed, "I'll leave it to your deductions."

\-----------------------

John couldn't help but laugh as soon as he saw the place where Sherlock stopped: MBE Records. Lots of young people were going in and going out and Sherlock smiled widely. On one of the sides of the street, some teenagers were lining up, waiting to enter. "Do you see that? Oh yes, John. I'm home."

John looked at him with a frown. "What are we doing here?"

"We're going shopping!" Sherlock said excitedly. The most excited John had ever seen him, he thought.

"Shopping?"

"This-" he said moving his hands through the air as they left the car. "-is the place where I buy everything. _Everything._ They have the latest and the coolest vinyls!"

"So you brought me here to recommend you some artists or...?" John said sarcastically.

Sherlock walked fast and entered the place. "No, no, Johnny boy. There's a gig today! A new band! I saw the poster today and I thought you'd like the surprise. What do you say? Want to get in? Buy some vinyls and enjoy real music?"

John looked at Sherlock with a serious gaze. "Oh you know me so well. You know _exactly_ what I want!"

"Sarcasm?"

"I think I was very obvious."

Sherlock took a deep breath. "Oh come on John! Help me out here! I'm still trying to apologize about what happened today!"

John was about to ask what happened today but then he remembered, and immediately his back started hurting. The greaser kept his eyes fixed on him. "You don't have to keep apologizing."

"No, but I want to. Come on, I promise you it will be fun!" Sherlock said grabbing John's hand and taking him into the record store.

John tried to ignore the thoughts that were invading his head while he was holding the greaser's hand, who as soon as walked by some guys looking at the LPs let go of it. John missed the touch instantly and turned to look at Sherlock, who now seemed a little uncomfortable.

Which made the whole moment twice as uncomfortable for John.

"We can go, if you're feeling awkward."

Sherlock shook his head. "I'm not. I'm just bringing a friend to buy some things and enjoy a gig. What's awkward about it?"

_Maybe that you just said a friend?_

John shook his head. "Nothing. You're right. There's nothing weird about it. Just bringing a friend. Sure."

"Are you uncomfortable?"

John pretended he didn't hear the question because he didn't want to answer and instead decided to reply with another question. "Who's playing?"

Sherlock smiled but his eyes were still observing all the place and refusing to look at John. "Hmmm?". He said, clearly distracted.

John rolled his eyes but decided to answer nonchalantly. "I just asked who is playing today?"

Sherlock looked at him. Finally. But he was reluctant. Awkward. Different. "Johnny Adams and the nightcats."

John laughed. "The what?"

"They are good! I swear!" He said grabbing a chair and sitting in a table close to the little stage on the end of the store.

"Hmmm.... I really don't believe you." John said shaking his head, smiling and sitting in front of him.

And in any other moment, in any other place, in any other situation, the Greaser would have replied something different, but in that instant, as some greasers passed by and looked at John frowning, Sherlock just managed to say: "Whatever. Believe what you like."

 _Oh look who's back! Sherlock Holmes and his greaser fa_ _ç_ _ade!_ John thought, snorting.

John stood up immediately. He had enough. He was tired of it. Sherlock and his goddamned mood swings and his thousand personalities. Enough.

The greaser looked up and tilted his head. "Problem?"

"You tell me."

Sherlock looked at him for a moment and smirked, looking confused. John turned and said, "I'll see you later."

He went out of the store feeling angry. Really angry. Sherlock Holmes was an idiot, one moment he was the most incredible person in the world and the next he looked at John as if he were some kind of freaky stalker.

But he didn't want to fight with him. He didn't want to be mad at him. He just wanted to be with him. He enjoyed every single moment he spent by his side. Well, most of them. So as soon as he left the store he stood in the sidewalk, took a deep breath, calmed himself and entered to the car, waiting for Sherlock to get out, because he had the hope the greaser realized it was pointless arguing and go and apologize to John. He certainly wasn't going to, because he had all the right to complain. Didn't he?

He was wrong. The greaser didn't realize.


	11. In The Still Of The Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why did you leave?"

After waiting for over an hour, John sighed and turned on the car and the radio. He put a classic music station. Beethoven. So much better than...whatever this music was. While listening to the tune, John wondered what exactly was going through his mind the moment he started having feelings for Sherlock. Because there was no point in denying it now. He definitely had them. But it was wrong and stupid and irrational and it was never going to happen again. Yes. John nodded convinced. He could get over this phase of stupidity.

The song was finished and the narrator started talking. He gave the hour. Seven p.m.

John widened his eyes. His parents were going to kill him.

"Se...seven?!"

Seven pm on a Monday! He had homework to do! His parents thought he was just going to Chemistry club! Which was supposed to finish at four! How on earth was he going to explain them that he skipped the club to fill a detention he had gotten and then he spent the remaining hours with a boy who happened to be a greaser and also the one to blame for his detention? He better come up with an excuse and do it fast.

But he was John Watson. He couldn't lie to his parents. He didn't know how to.

\-----------------------

As he was approaching his house, John saw Harry walking by the street. As soon as his sister saw the car, she ran hurriedly towards it, forcing John to push the brakes as fast as possible.

She waved her hands in the air. "John! Where the hell were you? My mom has called the whole neighborhood! She even called that friend of yours! The chubby one!"

"Mike?" John asked questioningly.

"Yes, yes that one!" She said opening the door of the car and getting in. John let out a sigh. "Now tell me, where were you?"

_Think of something John. A lie. A good lie. A convincible lie._

"...Detention." John managed to say after thinking for a while.

"Do you seriously think 'detention' is a good excuse to come up with?" Harry said with a laugh. "Detention doesn't last until 7, you naïve boy!"

"But I did get a detention Harry." John said, worried.

"I know! Mike told mom. She is not happy about that. I am. Good thing you dared to do something bad for once!" She said, smiling.

"I didn't! I- it... It wasn't my fault!" John argued.

"Then whose fault was it?"

"...Sherlock."

Harry widened her eyes and made a big 'O' with her face. "So that's who you were with!"

"I didn't say that!"

"But it's obvious! What the hell John, seriously? I told you to stay away from that boy as much as possible!"

"I- why?"

"Why what?" Harry said looking at John quizzically.

"Why are you warning me?"

"Because... Just because! I don't trust him! I don't think he is a good influence in you! I don't know him enough, but I do know Jim and he is nothing but trouble! I imagine your greaser must be alike!"

John felt a sudden anger rising to his head, because of Jim, because of Sherlock, because of Harry as well. He remembered Sherlock's scar. And his sister, half-unconscious driving their car. The ambulance stopping by, the lights, the noise, the blood...  _Sherlock_.

"Shut up! Shut up and stay shut up! Because whatever he is, whoever he is, it can't be worse than you!"

Harry blinked in surprise. "What?"

"You were so intoxicated, so drunk, do you seriously not remember, how can you not remember, how can you not remember him? Doesn't it hurt you? Don't you feel guilty? Why do I seem to feel more guilt than you? I wasn't the one who did it! It was all your fault! You are a specialist in coming and ruining everything Harry! And very good job you did back then, you nearly killed him!" John nearly yelled moving his hands in the air. He didn't want to be so harsh on his sister, but he couldn't help it.

"What the hell are you talking about?" His sister yelled.

"I'm talking about the accident! Do you remember? Or were you that drunk?"

Harry looked down as the memory of that night stroked her. She closed her eyes and bit her lip. "...Of course I remember John, it torments me!" She said lowly.

"Well, it torments Sherlock too." John said slowly, his eyes fixed on his sister as he asked himself why was he still defending Sherlock when he was supposed to do the opposite and not think about the greaser.

She looked up and narrowed her eyes, then she looked at her brother, startled. "Wait... What?"

"He was there. It was his car. It was him who you crashed."

She shook her head. "I-I..."

John took a deep breath. "Look-"

"I am sorry, John."

John blinked, not expecting that from his sister. "It's fine. I mean, I'm just... I'm worried about you Harry."

"There is nothing wrong with me!" She said defensively.

"You are alcoholic!"

She looked at him astonished, trying to hold the tears that were forming in her eyes and didn't say a word. She opened the door and got out of the car, closing it violently. The sound made John shudder as he turned the car on again.

\--------------------------

The door of his house was opened, and from the entrance he saw his mother sitting in the kitchen table, hands on her head, with the telephone right next to her, waiting for news. As soon as he entered she ran towards him. "John Hamish Watson where were you?" She said looking very angry.

John stood silent trying to think of something to say. Nothing.

His mother pulled him in a hug and he unconsciously shuddered and gasped at the pain he felt in his back, from the fight with Jim. Well, not really fight. Her mother loosened the hold rapidly and turned to look worried at her son, cupped his face with her hands, staring fixedly at it, checking if he had any bruise or anything. "What happened, John? Did somebody hurt you?"

John gave her a reassuring smile and shook his head. "No, no, mom. I just... I'm tired and you held me very tight and that's all..."

"I'm glad you're fine because you have lots of things to explain right now!"

Damn it.

"Detention?" She said putting her hands on her hips.

"I-"

"It's 8:30 pm! I sent Harry to look for you!"

"I-"

"Do you have any idea of how worried I was! I feared the worst!"

"Where is dad?" John asked, casting an eye over the kitchen.

His mother folded her arms and her face dropped. "He hasn't gotten home yet."

John knew what that meant.

She looked up again and furrowed her brow. "You should be thankful he isn't here! Now explain it to me now!"

John took a deep breath and told himself to calm down. "Okay, first of all, the detention wasn't technically my fault..."

"Then whose?" Her mother looked at him suspiciously.

"I'll get there in a moment. Second of all, Harry won't come back in a while."

"Why?"

"Mom, will you let me explain or not? Third of all, I wasn't doing anything bad, don't worry." Well, that wasn't technically a lie. He just escaped with a guy and then argued with him and was never talking to him ever again. The thought of it scared John even more.

"Well?"

"Well what?" John said after being silent for a long time.

"I'm waiting for the explanation..." She said angrily.

Sure, right, the explanation.

\-----------------------------

"Do I get you anything to drink?" The waitress asked again.

Sherlock didn't reply. He was silent, still looking at the empty seat in front of him and still wondering what the hell did just happen and why John stormed out like that. He shook his head and turned to look at the girl who was frowning and tapping her feet impatiently. "Sorry?"

She rolled her eyes. "That if I can get you anything?"

"Coffee it's fine."

Johnny Adams and the Nightcats started playing and they sounded good, really good. But Sherlock wasn't paying attention to them. His mind was focused on something else, and he hated that.

He was sure it had been because of what happened that morning, which was stupid, because he had apologized a lot of times to John. After the boy left, his first thought was to follow him, and talk to him, but he stopped and sat again. He needed to think first on why. He couldn't come up with any other answer than that, and if John wasn't accepting the other apologies he had given him before, why would he accept this one? No. He was not apologizing this time. He didn't know what he had done wrong.

He sighed and started drinking his coffee. The gig ended at eight and he couldn't recall a single one of the songs they played. John Watson was all there was in his mind.

He arrived home and Mrs Hudson received him with a hug. She offered him some food but he said he didn't want to eat. Which was nothing unusual. He rolled his eyes and went directly to his room. Mycroft wasn't home yet. He laid on the bed, looking at the ceiling and listening to Think it over by Buddy Holly. He sighed and thought it over.

\---------------------------

"...and when we realized it, it was very late. I swear I was going to call you mother, but we were so busy, we had lots of things to correct from the paper and this Holmes guy is not easy to work with and we don't get along very well and he is a greaser and just...ugh. It was a long evening."

"Well, you corrected it at least?" His mother asked, sounding more convinced.

"Yes mom, hopefully the teacher will give us a good grade now."

"And he was the same guy you went to detention for?"

John nodded absently.

Her mother sighed. "Don't let it happen again, John. You are a brilliant student. This boy doesn't seem like a good influence in you."

He definitely wasn't. John had never lied before. Not like that.

"And you should stay away from those friends."

"He is not, he is not my friend, mom." John said shaking his head.

That wasn't technically a lie. After what had happened that afternoon they weren't friends. Right? John shook the thought away and smiled at his mother, who didn't look exactly happy but didn't look exactly angry either.

"Where is Harriet?"

"We had a fight."

"Why?"

"Just... The usual. She yelled at me, I yelled at her. She will come back when she forgives me.

 _Probably drunk_ , John thought.

Surprisingly enough, John decided he was too tired to do homework and all he wanted to do was to get some sleep. "Mom, I'm exhausted. I really am. I'll go to bed right now."

"And you'll skip dinner, darling?"

"I'm not really hungry, I ate at Sherlock's."

"Oh, alright then. Sleep tight sweetheart."

And just as he was going upstairs to his room, he heard the gunshots.

_\-----------------------_

Mrs Hudson knocked on his door some time later, entering to his bedroom. "Sherlock, dear."

"What?" He asked slightly annoyed without taking his eyes off the ceiling.

"You've got a call."

The greaser's mind came up immediately with a rush of hope which could only say _John._ He then shook the thought away. John didn't have his number. Plus, why would he expect John to do that? He was a fool.

"I'm busy." He said, still looking at the ceiling.

"You're looking at the ceiling, Sherlock!"

"I am thinking!" He said sharply.

"I think you'll want to take this call."

He rolled his eyes and went downstairs.

A familiar voice saluted him over the phone. He widened his eyes in surprise as he heard it. "What is it now?"

"Murder. Double murder. We need you in the station right now."

Sherlock smiled. "I'll be there in a moment."

After a quick ride on a taxi, Sherlock arrived to the commissary, where a man saluted him in a rush and got him inside the police patrol immediately.

"So what are the details this time, detective inspector?"

"We don't know too much-" answered the man, taking a hand to his head, clearly worried of the situation. "So far, all we know is that about twenty minutes ago, eight gunshots were heard and the result was two people dead inside their house."

Then the patrol turned into the street which had became the place of the crime scene. Sherlock gasped. John lived down that street.

\------------------------

"Mom...?" John said trying to recover his breath after the initial shock. "...were those gunshots?" He tried to go down the stairs, but it was as if he had frozen. He couldn't move, he was terrified.

"John?" He heard his mom calling from the living room. "...are you okay dear?... Don't move!" She said turning off the lights of their house.

They heard the noise outside, people were screaming, the police sirens were sounding, and finally, when he was able to move a little and peek through the window, he realized that whatever happened it had happened in the house right next to theirs. A murder. Oh god, their neighbors were dead.

He ignored his mother's advise and went out of his house, the killer couldn't just come now and kill them all, could he? The street was chaotic and a generally peaceful and quiet neighborhood had become the focus of attention of the whole town. John's heart was still racing. The police was closing the crime scene. The rumors pointed that the two of them had been murdered.

Then he heard more sirens, in the middle of the confusion brought by the incident. John looked at the three police cars that were approaching to the street, and kept looking as the police force and the detectives got out of it. The town was so small and so peaceful that something like this was absolutely incredible. "...Sherlock?"

The greaser got out of the car fixing his leather jacket and sighing in relief at the sight of the boy, who looked terrified, but with no gun wound, while John kept his mouth wide open in surprise. "Hello, John." He said avoiding the eye contact with John, and trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, he made his way towards the house, followed by the boy, who kept his eyes fixed on him, questioningly.

"What are you doing here? Did you get arrested?"

Sherlock snorted and turned to look at him. "Do you seriously think that if I had gotten arrested I would be leaving the police car and entering to the crime scene? You and stupidity don't match, John, so don't ask silly questions."

John rolled his eyes. "Then why are you here?"

"I'm investigating."

"Care to elaborate?"

Sherlock lifted the tape the police had placed surrounding the house and turned to look at John, expectantly. "Well?"

John looked around, confused. "Well what?"

"Are you coming or not?"

He pointed at himself. "Me?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Do you see me talking to anybody else?"

"Why?"

"Because you like biology. You are interested in becoming a doctor and here we have two corpses who might serve perfectly for your purposes." Sherlock replied naturally.

"What?" John said shaking his head. "Sherlock, my neighbors have died and all you care about is that they serve for a purpose? Do you even care they died?"

"Does me caring for them resuscitates them?" Sherlock said with a frown.

"No."

"Then I will not continue to make such mistake. Are you coming or not?" Sherlock said turning his back to John and getting inside the house.

John felt tempted to go back to his house and ignore Sherlock completely, but he couldn't resist. "Damn it!" He said stepping into the crime scene.

They were received by the detective inspector, who looked at John suspiciously. "Hang on. Who is this guy?"

"He is with me." Sherlock said, without looking at the detective.

"But who is he?"

"I said he is with me!" Sherlock said sharply and entered quickly into the house.

John stood by the door and looked at the detective, who kept his glare on him. "John Watson."

"Detective Inspector Dimmock." The detective said with a nod.

John threw him a quick smile and entered the house, the greaser yelled. "John! This way!" So the boy went upstairs.

The view was incredibly sad. A woman was lying on the studio, with a gunshot in her forehead. There was blood everywhere and her head had landed over the typewriter.

John shuddered. He turned to look at Sherlock, who was looking at the crime scene like he used to sit and read his books over the bench, focused, like lost in another world. He leaned closer and put his gloves on, lifting her hair, reviewing the wound. After staring at him for a while, John decided to ask. "Well?"

Sherlock turned to look at him. "Well what?"

"There were two victims. Where is the other one?"

"In the basement." Dimmock answered seriously.

"Don't go in there, John. The scene might be too impressive for you." Sherlock said.

If Sherlock said it was too impressive, then maybe it was better attending his advise. Except he was mad at him, so he decided to play stubborn and leave. Sherlock sighed, stood up and followed him. "I'll be back in a moment."

"Wait, where are you going? We need to find clues quickly!"

"I told you I'd be back in a moment," Sherlock said sharply.

John went downstairs and passed by a group of doctors and photographers and as he entered to the basement, he had to lay into one of the walls to resist the urge to faint. The scene was terrible. The man's arms were tied and he showed clear signs of torture, then, _one two three four five six seven._ John counted seven gunshots. It was far too impressive for him, there was blood and bruises everywhere. He turned and left the basement, trying to hold back his tears. He stopped on the hall, not trusting his legs to go back upstairs.

"I told you not to come here." Sherlock whispered to his ear, taking his glove off and holding John's hand. He was shaking.

John nodded. "I decided not to listen to you." He was barely able to articulate.

"Why?"

"Because I was tired of doing whatever you wanted me to do." He said, still shaking.

"No. Why are you mad at me? Why did you leave?"

John turned to face him. "Seriously? You want to talk about it right now?"

"I want to distract you."

"Distract me?"

"You still have the image of the dead man in your mind."

John loosened the hold of Sherlock's hand. "Of course I have! He was my neighbor and he is dead! And he was tortured and he received seven gunshots and oh god, it was all happening right next to my house!"

"Seven gunshots?" Sherlock asked quizzically.

John nodded. Sherlock smirked.

"Can I ask you something, about them?"

John shook his head, trying pointlessly to stop his body from shaking uncontrollably. "I'm sorry, I can't. I just... I can't do this, Sherlock. This is too much. I feel sick."

Sherlock gave John a kiss in the cheek. "You were very helpful John. Thank you."

John looked at him and frowned. "Joke?"

"I never joke when it comes to work."

"Work?"

"You should consider being a doctor, John. You were able to identify the seven gunshots faster than the rest of the medical team in here." Sherlock said seriously and lowly.

John narrowed his eyes. "Sherlock, I saw this body and I'm shaking and I feel incapable of keeping my eyes on it and I feel like I might throw up. I can't. I could never be a doctor." He said with a tone of disappointment.

Sherlock cupped John's face with his hands. John was still looking down, panting. "John, look at me, look at me now." The boy lifted his face and looked at the greaser's beautiful gray/blue/green eyes, which were wide opened and completely focused on his. " You are amazing." John shook his head. "And you are alive. And you are okay and I can't tell you how relieved I felt when I saw your face as I got out of the car. And I think you're better than you think you are. You can go now, if you want." Sherlock said taking his hands off him and turning towards the stairs.

"I want to. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. You were a wonderful company." He said walking upstairs.

John got out of the house and took a deep breath and sat on the grass of the entrance, focusing on breathing, breathing, breathing, because he felt alive, but as if he experienced death in a way he never thought he could. Trusting his weak legs, he stood up with a huge effort, and walked towards his house, still shaking.

He entered to his house, didn't talk to his mom and went directly to his bed. He didn't sleep at all that night.


	12. It's All In The Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What's going on between you and Sherlock?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to give you all a HUGE Thank You for all your support on the fic! I appreciate all your wonderful comments and kudos and it means a lot to me. I hope you keep enjoying the story :D

Sherlock didn't arrive to school the next day, and John was a mess. He couldn't get sleep, and the few minutes in which he seemed to get some rest, the image of his neighbor tortured and tied came back to his mind like a nightmare, except it wasn't. It had happened.

He had huge bags under his eyes and couldn't seem to focus at all in the classes, he couldn't stop thinking about the murder. Well, that and Sherlock. He was certainly worried about Sherlock. What the hell was he doing with the police? Was he working with them? Why? This didn't sound like something Sherlock would do, was it? John felt he didn't know him at all.

He was supposed to be angry at him, after what had happened in the record store, but in the moment he saw him getting down the police patrol, the surprise and the shock after the bullets was bigger than his anger.

But probably what frustrated John the most was the fact that the crime scene proved John that he simply couldn't pursue a career as a doctor, because he would suck at it. Seeing blood and wounds left him shocked and feeling sick. How was he supposed to be a good doctor if seeing an injured human body made him feel like he was about to faint?

During lunch, Mike looked at John worriedly, who wasn't touching his food and was silent, too silent. His eyes were fixed in a dead point and he was pale, he didn't look fine. "Hey John! Are you alright mate?"

John didn't answer. He seemed absorbed in a different world.

"John!" No response.

"JOHN!" Mike shouted, and it sounded louder in the middle of the echo of the cafeteria.

John blinked and turned to look at Mike with a frown. "Huh? What?"

Mike frowned too, concerned about his friend. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I just... Fine, yes."

"Are you sure? You haven't even touched your food!" Mike said pointing towards John's lunch with his knife.

"...yes, I just... I need to go and get some air."

"Do you need anything?"

"No. I'm fine, I will be back in a moment." John said standing up. Mike nodded and kept talking to his friends, who seemed oblivious to John's state.

Just as he passed by the greaser's table, Greg stood up, said he had to go to the bathroom and left the cafeteria.

John went into the hall taking a deep breath and trying to calm himself. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, worries and images. He feared for his mother, who was at home with his sister, who last night arrived so late and so wasted she didn't even remember her name. He heard his mother shouting and the click of the door as his father got home, later than his sister.

This morning she was feeling so hungover she couldn't even sit still because she felt her head was going to explode, she didn't say a single word to John and begged her mother to let her miss this day of school, who, after some hesitance, accepted. John felt guilty, after all she left because of him, but feeling offended for being called an alcoholic and reacting by getting drunk was not the best idea his sister could come up with.

While he was thinking about that, he heard someone calling his name. "Oi! Watson!"

John turned and found Greg, walking right behind him and trying to fasten his pace to reach him. He felt a sudden fear, given the events of the day before, where Jim and Sebastian had kicked him against the lockers. Still, he stopped, hoping he wouldn't get his ass kicked this time. "Yes?"

When he finally reached him, Greg took a look of the hall, trying to see if they were alone. Clearly, he didn't want to be seen talking to someone like John, who rolled his eyes and wanted to end the conversation as soon as possible.

"Do you know where Holmes is? I didn't see him in any of my classes and he wasn't in the smoking corner either, so..."

John shrugged, he was looking at Greg seriously, putting his defenses up, trying to prepare himself for any attack by the greasers. "Why would I know?" He asked curiously.

Greg cleared his throat. "Well... You know... You've been spending a lot of time together...with the history project and everything..."

"Everything?" John asked with a frown.

"Well, the detention and that." Greg said trying to sound nonchalant.

"Oh." John said relieved.

"Yeah. So, have you seen him? Do you know if he is ill or something?"

John thought Greg's worry was a very nice gesture and he considered telling him the truth. Well, not all of it, of course, but at least why Sherlock had skipped school and what he had been doing the night before. Apparently, Sherlock trusted him enough. But he stopped to consider it and decided it was better not getting in Sherlock's business, perhaps the greaser didn't want anybody to know he was working with the police and currently solving a murder. That only John knew it. Which made him special? He shook away the thought and replied to Greg, who was looking at him, expectantly. "No, I don't. I really have no reason to know, do I?"

Greg looked down. "No, I suppose you don't."

"Well, if you excuse me..." John said turning his back because he really wanted to leave.

"Wait, Watson." The boy turned back at Greg's call.

"Yes?"

"I...um...wanted to apologize." Greg said clearing his throat.

"Apologize?" John asked confused.

"In behalf of my...friends. About what happened yesterday."

"Oh." John said with a frown.

"I just wanted to tell you that neither me nor Sherlock had nothing to do with it. That was all Jim's plan. He tends to be like that. But he is a good fella."

"I disagree." John said shaking his head.

Greg smirked. "Well, I think you should know Sherlock wasn't okay with that. He didn't like what they did. He was angry at them."

John nodded, still not knowing where the conversation was going to.

"So... Sorry."

"It's okay. What's past is past." John said with a shrug.

"Can I ask you one last question?"

John sighed. "Sure."

"What's going on between you and Sherlock?" Greg said seriously.

John felt a sudden fear reaching all over his body. He stood straight and cleared his throat. "What... What do you mean?"

"Well, you two are spending a lot of time together, I was just curious if..."

John cut him off before he would continue. "Of course we spend a lot of time, but it's not because we want to! We are really focused on doing this project and doing it right, you are his friend, you should know he is a perfectionist. But that's all. That's all there is." John said trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, but he ended up talking really fast and sounding nervous and annoyed, which Greg had clearly seen.

Greg nodded. Not so convinced. "Right. Sorry, just...curious."

John shook his head. "There's nothing to be curious about."

"Yes. Hm...Sorry for implying something else."

"Why?" John asked before telling himself to shut up.

"Why what?"

"Why did you think there was something else?" John said lowly, he didn't know why, but for some reason he trusted Greg, he seemed like a reliable friend. Like a friend Sherlock Holmes deserved.

"Oh." Greg answered putting his hand on his nape as he was about to say something he shouldn't. "It's just... Sherlock tells me a lot about you, and he looks...happy."

John casted a little smile but a moment later erased it off because he was being too obvious. "Does he?" He said seriously.

Greg nodded.

"Well... We're just work partners, Greg, that's all."

"Right" Greg said sounding not very convinced.

"So... I better be off."

"Yeah, sure." John turned as soon as he heard that and began walking towards the end of the hall.

"Oh, and John?" Greg said, and John turned again.

"Yeah?"

"I don't think you're just a work partner for Sherlock." He said with a smile.

John threw him a small smile but couldn't come up with a proper reply. He didn't know what to say. He just shrugged and walked back to the cafeteria. He was still not hungry, but at least he was distracted.

For him, Sherlock wasn't just a work partner either.

\---------------------

After a day which seemed to be eternal, John drove back home. He hated to admit it but he missed Sherlock, he felt he needed someone to talk about and that only the greaser would understand him. He hated feeling his absence.

When he got home, the street was filled with police cars, agents and detectives, working on solving the case. He let out a sigh. It was unbelievable that something like that could have even happened. It seemed more like a nightmare than reality.

Just as he was parking the car and turning it off, he heard a voice behind him. "Well, well, well, look who got home from school."

He smiled slightly and turned to look at Sherlock, who was taking his gloves off and smiled back at him. "Look who didn't go to school." John teased.

Sherlock shrugged. "I had a crime to solve. I had my priorities."

"Sherlock?"

"Hm?"

John remembered the conversation he had with Greg and smiled. "I missed you today. Don't skip class ever again."

Sherlock smiled widely and looked directly into John's eyes, with that look the boy simply couldn't resist. "I missed you too. I imagined myself telling you what I had found on the crime scene and  I ended up talking alone and everybody looked at me as if I had lost my mind."

John chuckled. Then he cleared his throat. "We can't laugh! It's a crime scene!"

Sherlock lifted his arms. "Well, it helps to pass the time."

"Have you been here all day?"

"All night and all day, actually. Trying to collect evidence."

John considered what he was about to say. "Well, so what are you waiting for?"

"Waiting for what?"

John smiled. "Let's go!"

"Go where?" Sherlock frowned.

"To the crime scene! I need you to tell me everything you find!"

Sherlock looked at John, smiled, and turned to walk towards the house.

"This way, doctor!" Sherlock said happily.

John felt a pinch of excitement hearing that. He certainly enjoyed being called a doctor. He wanted to be one, and this was a good way to start, even if it was terrifying, he knew Sherlock would be there to support him. He smiled back. "After you, Detective Inspector."

Sherlock turned and shook his head. "No, no, no. Consulting detective."

John looked at him with a frown. "Consulting detective?"

"The only one in the world!"

John smiled and followed Sherlock. "I won't even ask."

\--------------------

While they walked from John's garage to the crime scene John's curiosity won him over and he decided to ask Sherlock. "Sherlock, are you going to tell me what are you doing here?"

"John, I will, later. We have a lot of work to do."

John took a deep breath while he was standing in front of the door of the house of the crime scene. Sherlock turned to look at him, worry drawing in his expression. "Are you sure you want to enter, John?"

John closed his eyes and nodded, "yes. I do."

"But yesterday-"

"I know what happened yesterday!" He said in a louder tone than he intended to. "I just... Look, I want to be a doctor, Sherlock. I want to do this, and I know it's not going to be easy, but I want to try, because I'm going to see bodies for the rest of my life."

Sherlock took his hand, lifted it and gave a quick kiss in the back of it. John smiled shyly. "And you are going to be a wonderful doctor. Alright, let's go."

They entered while John tried not to panic.

"So which clues have you found?" He asked as they passed by the photographers and the detectives, who didn't ask Sherlock nor him why he was there, which John found very surprising.

"Not so much, so far. Dimmock asked for anything in the record about the couple. The woman was a writer and his husband was a businessman. Apparently they moved from a big city, because they lost most of their money when the stocks went down. She reported she had gotten threats about five months ago, but then she didn't mention them again. The police investigated them, but this happens all the time so it wasn't taken into account. The rare thing about it is, if she was the one who got the death threat, why did her husband take the worst of it?"

"Maybe someone who lost their money because of him?"

Sherlock shook his head, "No, no apparently nobody knew where they had moved to. This town is very small, John, it barely appears on the maps. Seems like the perfect place to hide."

John looked at Sherlock and smiled, He looked so...grown up, so mature, so _not_ greaser-like. Sherlock turned to look at him and stared longingly without saying a word.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because you are incredible."

Sherlock flushed, which was a first. And John chuckled. "Stop flirting with me! We're in a crime scene!" He said turning his back to John and walking towards the stairs.

"Take this one". Sherlock told John, handling a doctor robe, which wasn't his and was also too big for him, but John obeyed and put it on. He felt a pinch of excitement and smiled widely. Sherlock looked at him up and down. "It certainly fits you, Doctor."

John shook his head and followed him. Before they entered to the room where the wife had been murdered, John grabbed Sherlock's arm and turned him so he could face him. "Sherlock. What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to prove my point." He said with a smile.

"Which is?"

"That you are smarter than all the other so called doctors in the room."

John shook his head, "You are crazy! I can't do that!"

"Of course you can, and you will." He said winking at him.

One of the investigators stopped them at the entrance. "Hey! Wait! What do you think, that you can just get any friend inside to peek whenever you want to?"

"He is a trust-worthy man. And also a doctor." Sherlock said so seriously, it almost convinced John, who tried not to laugh.

"A doctor?"

Sherlock turned to look at John and nudged him slightly, without the detective's notice. John reacted and stepped forward, adjusting his glasses. He tried to make his most serious and adult-like voice. "Hm...Yes. Yes. Doctor John H. Watson."

The detective looked at him, lifting his eyebrow. "Aren't you too young to be a doctor?"

Sherlock took a step forward too and said. "He is still studying. About to get graduated, but that's irrelevant. I haven't even finished high school and here I am, this case is in my hands."

"We can take it off your hands in any moment, Holmes." The detective said seriously.

Sherlock smirked. "No, you can't. You need me." He said stepping into the crime scene and gesturing John with his hand to follow him.

The detective frowned, but didn't say another word.

The crime scene was intact, the woman still laying over the typewriter, while the police tried to collect as much evidence as possible. Sherlock stood in front of the body. "She will be taken to the morgue soon, but for now, I want you to take a look at her. Closely. Tell me what you see."

John felt terrified and while he stood there, he felt every single fact he had gathered from every biology and medicine book he read had slipped off his brain. He sighed and leaned forward to look at the woman. There was something wrong. Something didn't fit.

He lifted her hair, took a look to her face, then checked on her shoulders and neck and the wound. He then turned to look at Sherlock. "At which hour, exactly, was the first gun shot heard?"

"8:46" Sherlock replied curiously.

"No." John said, standing up.

"What?" Sherlock frowned.

"No. _That_ wasn't the first gunshot. From the state of the blood, I think she died before that time. I'd say about two p.m."

Sherlock looked at him quizzically. "What do you mean with that?"

"The assassin killed her first. Then her husband. But she was killed in the afternoon."

Sherlock widened his eyes and ran towards the stairs with a surprised expression on his face. He came back a moment later, checking on the police's evidence and smiling. John looked at him with a frown, looking confused. "See?"

"See what?" John said with a shrug.

"You just proved my point." Sherlock smiled at him and John couldn't help but smile back.

In that moment, they heard a noise outside of the house. John broke the eye contract to turn and look through the bedroom window. "Oh, God."

"What?" Sherlock said, taking his gloves off.

"...My mom is here." John said feeling ashamed and shrugged.

Sherlock laughed lowly. "Oh! Your mom is looking for you!" He said with a huge grin on his face.

John nudged him. "Shut up! Oh god, this is embarrassing!"

Well it was about to become more embarrassing, because a doctor came upstairs with a small smile on his face and all John could think about was why nobody was taking the case seriously instead of wasting time laughing about the fact his mother was looking for him. "Which one of you is John Watson?" The man said looking at them both.

Sherlock shook his head quickly and pointed at John, who tried his best not to flush. He looked at Sherlock with a _you're going to pay for that later_ and said clearing his throat, "yes, that's me."

The doctor rolled his eyes. "I told Dimmock not to bring infants to the crime scene. Your _mother_ is looking for you." He said as if it was the most ridiculous thing in the world.

John tried to defend himself. "We live on the house next-"

The man lifted his hand as if telling John to shut up. "I don't care. Go down, that woman is yelling at us." He said with a voice half- amused, half-annoyed.

"Sorry about that." John said looking down and walking towards the door.

"Oh! Wait for me!" Sherlock said running to catch John.

"What? You _want_ to meet my mother?" John said surprised.

"Well, she must be a _lovely_ woman." Sherlock said trying to hide the sarcasm.

John looked at Sherlock suspiciously. "You just want to embarrass me, don't you?"

"You know me too well, Johnny boy." Sherlock said winking at him, passing John by, and going downstairs.

"No, I really don't." John said honestly, shaking his head, because he had to admit it was true. Maybe of all people in school, he was the one who had gotten to know the greaser the most, but he didn't know him well enough, he barely knew the tip of the iceberg. There was so much of Sherlock, so much mystery to uncover, and John wanted to know it, and it was frustrating not being able to do so.

Sherlock ignored him and with a little smile walked towards the entrance door.

Outside, a woman was trying to pass by the police tape, while two men held her. And she was screaming. "Let me go!"

John raced towards her. "MOM!"

She loosened the hold of the two men and hurried towards John, who was leaving the crime scene. "Oh John, I'm glad you're Okay! These monkeys wouldn't let me see you!"

John nodded. "Yes, mom, I'm fine. How did you know I was here?"

Her mom turned to look at the car, "...you arrived a long time ago and didn't enter the house. It wasn't hard to figure out where you were, but it was worrying finding out."

"Don't worry, mom. We're helping the police."

" _We?_ " His mom asked quizzically.

He was going to answer, when the greaser passed him by and shook his mother's hand with a big (and evil, John could tell) smile in his face. "Sherlock Holmes, you must be Mrs. Watson"

Oh God. This was not going to end well.

 


	13. The Twelfth of Never

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's just, you...you pretend and pretend and pretend."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be up next saturday, enjoy! ;)
> 
> Also, I'd like to thank [ hidinginthemagiclibrary ](http://hidinginthemagiclibrary.tumblr.com) for this lovely [ fanart for the fic! x :3](https://31.media.tumblr.com/9d5b363d7a10d0896a1c07e2a26a3704/tumblr_inline_nl7s0xAy9A1sc3769.jpg)

"Oh..." John's mom said as soon as she heard the name and turned to look at John, who threw her a shy smile. "My son has told me a lot about you." She said trying (unsuccessfully) to hide her displeasure.

Sherlock lifted and eyebrow and turned to look at John, who avoided eye contact with the greaser at all costs. "Oh! Has He?"

"Yes." His mother said sharply. "What are you doing here?"

"I am...accompanying your son. He wanted to take a look at the crime scene and a...friend of mine is an inspector so he let us in" Sherlock said in an incredibly polite way, at which John frowned and turned to look at him in disbelief. Was he trying to get his mother to like him? No, of course he wasn't.

"And he just let you in?" John's mother said sarcastically and unconvinced.

John and Sherlock nodded at the same time.

"John why did you do that? You could get in trouble! This is dangerous!" She said, turning to look at Sherlock and frowning, the greaser looked at her and threw her one of his bests fake smile.

Sherlock was about to open his mouth and answer, but John lifted a hand, as ordering the greaser to shut up. He did, so John took a step forward and looked seriously at his mom. "Mom, I want to be a doctor. This is my training!"

His mother looked horrified. "Those are your neighbors! Your _murdered_ neighbors!"

"And I want to help the investigators to solve the case!"

"John! You are just a kid! You can't just go around pretending you know everything about the human body and thinking you'll solve a murder!"

In that moment Sherlock took a step ahead and John looked at him worriedly, but let him talk. "Um, excuse me, Mrs. Watson, but let me tell you, your son was fantastic, and he found a very important clue for the police, so I'd say yes, he can solve the murder."

John tried not to flush, which was impossible, but he hid his smile and nodded at his mom, who just sighed and shrugged. "Well, what can I do to stop you? Just be careful, would you?"

"Don't worry Mrs Watson, I'll take care of him."

John's mom turned to look at Sherlock and examined him up and down, up and down, then frowned. "How can I trust someone who sent my boy to detention?"

Sherlock looked at John and narrowed his eyes, then he turned to look at his mom in surprise. "What? He said that?"

His mother looked unamused. "Yes."

"Well, let me apologize about that in the first place. And second of all, I _didn't_ send him to detention! I had to go to detention too!"

"You must spend a _lot_ of your time in detention, young boy!"

But Sherlock was still calm and smiling and trying to sound as a good boy as possible. "Believe it or not, Mrs. Watson, that's not true. I am a brilliant student and I do wonderful in school. You can ask John."

John's mother turned to look at him and frowned, looking confused. John nodded. "Believe it or not, it's true."

Sherlock smiled and looked at Mrs Watson. "And the detention was an absolute misunderstanding!"

His mother looked at John suspiciously, then turned to Sherlock and threw her hands in the air. "Alright, just please take care of my boy."

John felt _so_ embarrassed. Sherlock looked serious and said, "of course I will, Mrs. Watson, don't worry."

Her face expressions changed as son as Sherlock replied, she threw a smile at him and said "So, would you like a cup of coffee?"

"Oh, that would be fantastic!" Sherlock said excitedly.

"Okay, come on in." She said walking towards the door.

Sherlock started walking to follow her into John's house when John held him by the forearm and pulled him back. "Wait, wait, wait! What do you think you're doing?"

Sherlock smiled and said "I'm going to get a cup of coffee!"

"Sherlock. Seriously." John said unamused.

"I want to know your family!"

John shook his head. "You're crazy."

Sherlock laughed. "If they only knew I had already been at your house, taken a cup of coffee and made you drive me back home because I was too drunk!"

"Don't you even dare, Sherlock!" John chuckled.

"Of course not, don't be an idiot!" Sherlock said running towards John's house.

John sighed but smiled.

\-------------------------

Surprisingly enough, the encounter went...well. After a cup of coffee and a long time of talk, John's mother seemed to have changed completely her opinion about the greaser and seemed to accept him as a friend of his son. Sherlock was so... charming, and John thought he would be an excellent actor. The greaser talked about his life, about his parents, even about his brother! And John ended up thinking that now his mom knew Sherlock better than he knew Sherlock. Which made him a little jealous. Which was stupid and he shook the thought away.

After talking for a long time, Sherlock stood up and smiled towards John's mom. "I'm having a wonderful time, but we have a murder to solve, Mrs. Watson!"

Worry drew on her face, but she nodded.

"We have to go to the police station. My friend asked me to pick up some evidence they have on there." Sherlock said turning to John.

John smiled looking at his mom. "I'll drive mom."

"Careful, sweetheart." She said sweetly, going to give John a kiss on the cheek.

John flushed again. "Mom...!" Sherlock chuckled slightly and John nudged him.

"Goodbye Mrs Watson" Sherlock said smiling and walking towards the door.

As they left, Sherlock laughed. John looked at him raising an eyebrow. "What is so funny?"

Sherlock stopped laughing. "Oh! Nothing at all! Your mom is _adorable!_ "

John still felt slightly embarrassed but ignored the greaser and walked towards the car. Sherlock got inside too and the first thing he did was turn the radio on. The greaser then turned to look at John. He said carefully and lowly. "She thinks you are not capable of doing it."

John frowned and nodded. "nothing is good enough for them, everything has to be _perfect._ If it's not perfect, it's not worth it. And you know what? I will never be perfect. I will never be good enough, capable enough, smart enough for them. They will always want more. They have all their hopes on me. And they think I'm perfectly fine with that, but maybe I'm not. And I'm definitely not." He said, taking a deep breath.

Sherlock placed one of his warm hands in John's face, and John leaned in it. "It's your life, John. They can't just tell you what to do with it. It's _yours,_ not theirs. Live it how _you_ want to live it, not how they expect you to."

"That's the problem, Sherlock. I don't know how to live it. I just... I have no idea."

"Because you've never thought about it."

"Yes, you're probably right." He said trying to hide the frustration he was feeling at that moment. "...But what if mom's right? What if I could never be a doctor? What if I could never save a life? What if it isn't what I want?"

Sherlock smiled compliantly. "I saw your face brighten up when I called you a doctor. You _love_ it, John. Don't let your parents make you think otherwise. You're good enough, you're better than good. And once you prepare for it, you'll be one of the greatest doctors in the country!"

John smiled back because he didn't know what else to say, he was just so happy and thankful that Sherlock was right next to him, and supporting him and understanding him and it was good. It was better than good, it was great.

They stood in silence, enjoying the music and the company of each other for a while.

\----------------------------

As they were on their way to the police station, John told Sherlock: "So, what are we going to gather there?"

"We are not." Sherlock said nonchalantly.

John turned to look at the greaser. "We are not?"

"No, we're not going to the police station." He said looking through the window. "Turn in here."

"What?" John said worriedly.

"Turn here!!!"

"Where the hell are we going then?"

"To get a milkshake." Sherlock said as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

"A milkshake?"

"Yes, I know a great place near here."

John shook his head. "Sherlock! We have a murder to solve!"

"This is more important." Sherlock said looking through the window.

" _More_ important?"

"Yes. More important, now turn here!"

John did and turned. They ended parking in the back of a cafeteria, which was a very nice place, in front of them there was a forest, and it had a wonderful look. Sherlock entered and went out holding two milkshakes, which, John thought, looked delicious.

Just when John thought the greaser would enter the car, he sat on the hood and told John to sit there with him. John shook his head.

"Come on John! the weather is delicious!"

"It's like one hundred degrees out there!" John said still shaking his head.

"The perfect temperature for having a milkshake" Sherlock said smiling.

John sighed and got out the car and sat on the hood too. "I have never done this before."

"What? Have a milkshake sitting on the hood of your car while listening to rock n' roll with a greaser? Yes, I believe you." Sherlock said with a smile.

"It's nice." John said, enjoying the view. Then he turned to look at Sherlock. "Now, why did you bring me here?"

Sherlock turned to look at John seriously. "Why were you angry with me yesterday?"

John frowned, trying to remember why he had been angry with Sherlock. Lots of things had happened in the last twenty four hours. Then he remembered. _Right, the record store._

John realized that Sherlock was looking at him expectantly and he hadn't answered yet. The greaser let out a sigh. "Look, I told you I _was_ sorry about what happened with Jim, John! I thought you had forgiven me! Everything was going well and suddenly you storm out and leave!"

John looked at Sherlock in disbelief. "You seriously have no idea of what you did?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Not a clue."

"Well, that's a first." John said trying to light the environment and avoid some sort of fight.

Sherlock looked at him seriously. "Tell me what upset you."

"I... Just...what are we, Sherlock?" John said hesitantly.

"What are we?" Sherlock said confused, clearly not expecting that question.

"Yes."

Sherlock stood silent.

"...Because yesterday, at the record store, you passed from being the wonderful smart, incredible boy I know to be the biggest douchebag greaser in the world!"

Sherlock still stood silent. Then he looked at John and smiled. " _Wonderful, smart, incredible?"_ He said amused. "Is that how you see me?"

John shook his head. "No, no, no! Don't change the subject in here!"

Sherlock thought for a moment. "Um. Look John, I have told you a hundred times, _you_ are the only person who knows me as I am. Whatever else there is, with whoever else, it's just a façade. But with you, I don't need to pretend, I can just be myself." He said proudly.

And that statement should have been enough. Except it wasn't. "I don't believe you." John said and it came out sounding very harsh.

Sherlock looked at him questioningly.

"Sherlock, I feel like I don't know you at all. I just... I can't understand you."

Sherlock stood silent for a moment. Then he sat up straight and looked at John seriously. "You don't believe me."

"No. I do believe you. Maybe I'm the only person who you have opened yourself to, and I love that. But I simply feel like I know nothing about you, and the more time I spend with you, the more I see you like a mystery. And I hate that."

John was afraid this might be the end of whatever this was. Sherlock still was silent. The longest he'd been with John without actually talking.

Sherlock leaned on the car window calmly. John kept his eyes fixed on him. "Sherlock, talk to me."

"What about?"

"...You."

"I have told you enough about me! I have told you everything you need to know about me! I have even talked to your mother about me and you still think you don't know me? Then I think you never will. Simple as that." Sherlock said standing up from the car hood.

John tried to stay as calm as possible. He sat straight too. "Sherlock, I just want to get to know you better!"

"You know everything!" Sherlock said defensively.

Maybe Sherlock was right, maybe he knew far too much about him. But no, he didn't. What was Sherlock even doing with the police last night? Why did he keep pretending? What about his friends? John still didn't know him at all. "Maybe you're right."

"Of course I'm right. There is nothing left to tell, John! Nothing about me!"

John shook his head. "No. Maybe I'll never get to know you."

Sherlock stood silent.

"After all you let me get my ass kicked..."

"I knew you hadn't forgiven that one! What was I supposed to do?" Sherlock said annoyed, throwing his hands in the air.

"It's just, you...you pretend and pretend and pretend." John said shaking his head and wondering why his brain wasn't coordinating what his mouth was saying. He sounded so bitter, so helpless. "...And what if all of this is just another one of your lies? What if I'm just a joke to you?"

"My lies?" Sherlock said offended.

"Your lies. We've had the same argument, over and over and over. And you're right. Maybe we'll never see the end of it. Maybe I will never ever know you at all. Maybe you'll always be the stupid greaser you're always pretending to be, and maybe I will never fit with that, maybe I will never understand that."

"Maybe." Sherlock said seriously, he turned his back, not wanting to look at John.

"Yeah, maybe, probably. Possibly."

"...Certainly." Sherlock said sharply, and he sounded so...different.

John cleared his throat. "Yes. Certainly." _Wait...certainly? Is this it? This can't be it, no. It can't be over...whatever this is. No, not just like this. Say something, Watson. Save the day. Come on, think!_ He didn't say another word for a while.

Sherlock didn't talk either. He stood silent and didn't turn to look at John.

John was terrified of asking the next question but he _had_ to. He cleared his throat again. "What does that make us, then? What are we?"

Sherlock didn't reply for a while. Then he turned towards John. "Nothing. We are nothing at all." And he left walking.

\--------------------

Sherlock must have taken a taxi because by the time John arrived back to his house, he was already outside of the house next door, talking seriously with Dimmock. John parked his car and went towards them, waiting until Sherlock finished talking with the detective so they could have a proper talk.

As soon as they finished talking, Dimmock returned to the house. Sherlock looked at John and then turned and walked towards the door. John grabbed him by the arm. "Sherlock! We _need_ to talk!"

Sherlock lifted an eyebrow and pulled that annoying greaser face he knew how to do so well, which gave John an instant flashback of some weeks ago, when that face was all he knew about Sherlock. "Talk about what?"

"What just happened."

"What happened, Watson?"

John looked down and sighed in disappointment. His voice came almost like a whisper. "Watson?"

"There is nothing to talk about!" Sherlock said, loosening the hold of John's grip. "Now can I go?"

"Jesus, Sherlock! Stop being so stubborn and listen to me!"

"Oh, so I'm stubborn, I'm a stupid greaser, I'm a douchebag, what else am I, according to you?" Sherlock said frowning at John.

_Wonderful, smart, incredible...an idiot?_ John thought but didn't say another word about it. "So you're giving up, just like that?"

"I'm not giving up on anything!"

"So it's all finished then, I'm back to being Watson and you're back to being Holmes and we just _pretend_ nothing happened because that's what you always do, right?"

Sherlock looked at him with an expression John couldn't quite understand. It was like a mix of anger with pain. He didn't say anything for a while. Then he was expressionless again and looked so... Greaser-like. "We can't finish something that never had a start." He said sharply.

"Oh really? Then explain to me what you meant with your 'I refuse to let you go', because it seems like you're letting me go."

Sherlock shrugged. "Maybe it was another one of my lies. How did you call them? Right. Another one of my _jokes."_

"Sherlock." John said trying to sound more calmed, his voice tone was now lower and he was close to Sherlock, but he didn't feel like he was close, it was cold. "...just think for a second about what you're doing, what we're doing, this just can't be it. Not like this. I refuse to let you go." He said shaking his head.

Sherlock took a deep breath, he looked into John's eyes. "Well, you'll have to, Watson. Now if you excuse me, I have a crime to solve." He said turning towards the door.

"So that's your answer for everything, then? You just run away?"

"I'm not running away, I'm settling my priorities."

"You know? I found out something about you." John said with a sarcastic laugh that sounded more hurt than funny.

Sherlock lifted an eyebrow. "Oh really?"

John nodded. "You run away from things that matter."

Sherlock shook his head. "No. You got it wrong. I run away from things that _don't_ matter."

John looked at him in disbelief. "What?"

"Goodbye, Watson." Sherlock said walking towards the door.

"Sherlock?" John said, still don't believing what just happened and how a stupid argument ended up in... the end.

Of something that never started.


	14. I'm Looking for Someone To Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "That was never going to end well anyway."

The rest of the week passed by. Sherlock didn't come back to school for the rest of the week and John wondered how on earth did his brother allow that? However, he got used to seeing Sherlock every time he came back home, sometimes it seemed like the greaser knew John's schedule and was waiting for him, to talk to him? Fix things perhaps? Certainly not. It was to ignore him and make John feel like shit. Which was working.

So John entered to his house, forced himself not to look at Sherlock and did his very best to ignore him everyday. Sometimes it was easier, sometimes it was harder and he couldn't resist the impulse of peeking through the window and checking if he was still there, investigating.

The police seemed lost, they were taking way too much time to solve the case. Was Sherlock getting slow? John thought maybe he should go and see if he was alright, if he needed anything, but then he thought it through and convinced himself it was the worst idea ever. And it was.

John couldn't deny those days had been hell. Alone at school, alone at home, alone, alone, alone. He felt the hole Sherlock had left, a hole he didn't know he needed to fill until this time. And Sherlock looked so good through that window, so witty, so smart, so attentive, so attractive... So close, yet so, so far away from him.

\-------------

On Friday, Harry sat on the table, right across John, John looked at her with an apologetic smile and she gave him a shy smile back. He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Harry."

She shook her head. "No, you're right. You're right." First time they talked again since he called her an alcoholic.

"About what?" He asked incredulously, because lately he hadn't done absolutely anything right.

"I'm an alcoholic." She said with a shrug. "And at first I was so mad, so incredibly angry with you, then I realized you had a point. Then I went and drank everything I could find, and that _was_ a stupid decision. But I opened my eyes, I suppose. So thanks. I'll try. I really will."

John smiled. "I will always be there to support you, okay?"

She nodded, then she looked down and a small tear came down her face. She wiped it off fast, but not fast enough for John not to realize. He frowned. "Hey, everything okay?"

And she lifted her head. And she was crying. John had never seen his sister crying like that. It was alarming, and weird. She shook her head. "It's nothing, I'm fine."

"Harry."

"I...I'm fine."

"No you're not." John said looking at her carefully.

"Clara broke up with me." She said suddenly, and she looked like a mess, it was written all over her face.

John didn't say a word. So Harry kept talking.

"She said she loved me, but this couldn't go on like this. She said I was a load for her. A _load,_ can you believe it? She said she has to think things through but she needs space. I lost her." She said, losing control of her tears as they rolled down her face.

"I'm sorry, Harry." John said, because he really couldn't think of anything else to say. Right now, he wasn't the best one to give love advice.

"I just...I have to get sober, I have to recover, and I'll do it for her. And I will, I promise."

John smiled and nodded. "I'm very proud of you. And forgive me please."

"Sure, John. At least now I can look at you without wanting to kick your nuts off, so that's a good sign."

"Thankfully!" John said with a small smile on his face.

Harry chuckled as she cleaned the remnants of her tears.

"So, bad week for love, huh?" John said trying to come as funny but it ended up sounding melancholic.

"Things not good?"

"Not good." John shook his head.

"With that greaser of yours?" Harry asked nonchalantly.

"First, he is _not_ mine. Second of all, yes."

"Did you break up?"

"We had to have something to break it up...and we did not."

"It didn't seem like it."

"Well, it is. There's nothing left. We fought. He is angry. He is ignoring me, I can't blame him for that. But it's hell thinking he is right next to me, investigating, having fun, while I stay here and all I can think about is him and..." He closed his mouth. Maybe he had said too much. Harry's expression confirmed it.

"What do you mean there's nothing left?"

"We're nothing and there's nothing."

"But you are in love with him. Aren't you?"

No point in denying it. Harry knew it since the start. She always knew. She knew before John knew. "...Yes." He said hesitantly, flushing.

"Then there _is_ something. There's love. And love is quite something. It's quite everything." She said with a smile.

"Sorry, I'm not following." John shook his head.

"Don't give up without a fight, John." Harry said convinced.

"We have had enough fights." He said seriously.

She snorted. "You know what I mean. If you _really_ like this boy, then don't just let him go, don't do it. Not like that."

She had a point. She always did.

\-------------------------

Hundreds of detectives and journalists came and went by the house next door, sometimes Sherlock passed by, looking serious. John thought about how wonderful it should be being there with him, seeing him thinking, in action, so focused. It was a show. It was incredible. He thought about the conversation he had had with his sister and decided it _was_ better fighting, and not letting it sink in for something as silly as an argument like the one they had.

He saw Sherlock outside the house, smoking a damn cigarette. John put on his sweater and went out. The greaser looked so good.

Before reaching the door, he took a deep breath and felt very nervous. He thought of something to say, but couldn't come up with anything. He opened the door. Sherlock was smoking anxiously. Sucking, sucking, sucking, that one cigarette finished incredibly fast and he pulled out another...okay John needed to talk to him right now.

"I need to talk to you." John said walking towards Sherlock.

Without looking at him, and focused on his cigarette, Sherlock answered seriously. "Unless it's the history project, I'm not interested." He threw the cigarette to the floor, then he glanced at John, shook his head and moved to walk towards the crime scene.

John grabbed him by the elbow quickly, and pulled him back to where he was, and suddenly Sherlock was very, very close to him, and God, he missed that scent, those eyes, that face, those lips. _Stop staring at his lips!_ He forced himself to look up and he found Sherlock's blue/gray/green eyes fixed on his lips. It was irresistible.

After a moment of silence, the greaser turned to look at the hand, still holding the elbow, and moved violently his arm, to release from the hold. He then looked at John with a weird expression, as of fake repulsion. "Please, give me a minute."

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes in that very sherlockian expression which reminded John of their first days. "Fine. Spit it."

He shook his head. He hated it, but he looked so helpless, so desperate. "What are we doing?"

"I'm investigating and you're interrupting me." Sherlock looked directly into John's eyes.

"No, you were destroying your lungs, but you know exactly what I meant with that question, so stop pretending and answer me."

"Pretending, pretending, pretending. The word of the week." Sherlock said sarcastically.

"Answer me."

"That's the answer." Sherlock said sharply, heartless, serious.

John stood still for a while, trying to comprehend. He couldn't come with a reply for that. Pretending, maybe that was all it was.

Sherlock sighed again. "Do you remember when we first met and you told me to choose a topic for the history project and I chose Chemistry even though it would be a topic that would affect both of us? Well, this time is your choice, John. It's up to you now. I certainly won't save us. You decide if you will or not. You choose what you want." Sherlock turned again.

"Listen to me." John said loudly. Sherlock turned back again.

"I hear you."

"I just...I miss you. I miss you like crazy. You ask me to choose what I want, the answer is simple, and it's the same one you gave me that day you apologized to me: I want _you._ Simple enough. But I want you as _you_ are. Fascinating, smart, adorable..."

"...Greaser?" Sherlock said unmoved, and John flinched. "See? You still don't accept me as I am!"

"I didn't say I didn't accept it!"

"Oh please, your eyes tell me everything I need to know about you, John." Sherlock said, leaning forward so their faces were almost touching and they looked at each other into their eyes. "...and if you can't accept me as I am, _all_ of it, then no, thank you."

"I just..." John started to say, but couldn't come up with something.

"You just don't trust me, you don't trust the _other_ part of me. I can see it every time I'm with you, you still expect the punch, the insult, the joke. You don't believe me."

"Sherlock! You let me be beaten! Do you think I can just _trust_ you that easily?"

"Do whatever you want." He said in an awful tone. "Do _whatever_ you want but leave _me_ in peace _._ Once and for all. Stop creating illusions. For both you and me. I will never fulfill them and neither will you. See?" He smiled bitterly. "I made the choice for you. And it was the best choice." He turned again, "now, if you excuse me, I'm busy. More important things to talk about. Later, Watson."

John stood there, silent, seeing as Sherlock walked away. Leave him alone once and for all. Good choice Sherlock made. Except it wasn't and John didn't want to do it, but if that was what Sherlock wanted, that was what he would get. He sighed, he was so angry, so shocked, so... _Sad._ And he hated it. He turned and walked back home.

\-------------------

John held the hope things would change a bit once they had History class. They did not. As he entered the classroom, Sherlock was already there and didn't pay attention to him at all. John thought he preferred when Sherlock bullied him, when he rolled his eyes at him, anything, _anything_ was better than this indifference. It was painful, very painful.

The class ended and John stood up with a sigh. He took his bag and turned to look at Sherlock, who was looking down and reading or _pretending_ to be reading, John couldn't be quite sure. He stood there, looking at him and thinking how it was possible that something that seemed so good, so legit, so wonderful, could end so abruptly and then act as if nothing happened. It wasn't fair. He hated that, and he wanted to hate Sherlock for it. But he couldn't, he simply couldn't.

He didn't move from where he was, involved in his thoughts. He didn't know for how long he stood there, but it must have been a long time, because finally the greaser lifted his head and looked at John and John missed him so badly. "Do you need anything, Watson?"

John cleared his throat and frowned, still not getting used to being called Watson. "The first project draft has to be delivered in two weeks. We need to work on that."

Sherlock stood up seriously. "Later."

"No! It can't be later! I won't leave everything for the last hour!"

"I don't know if you remember, Watson, but unlike you, I _do_ have a life outside school, and lots of things to do. I told you we will take charge of that later. Take it or leave it."

John sighed. "Fine. I'll talk to you later."

"Hm." Sherlock barely nodded and left without even saying goodbye.

John felt a knot down his throat. He tried to swallow it down and smiled bitterly. "Leave it, Watson. Leave it." He told himself.

He had to, anyway.

\----------------------

Sherlock took a deep breath and closed his eyes as soon as he exited the classroom. He leaned his forehead against the lockers and stood there for a while. He didn't feel strong enough to do anything. He hated himself for feeling so weak, for allowing so much space of his brain to be taken by John Watson.

God, he needed a cigarette. He needed it so badly. He wished with all his heart Jim and the gang wouldn't be at the smoking corner, he didn't feel like talking at all.

As he arrived to the corner, he lit up the cigarette and started smoking anxiously. He hated those times when he smoked one, and that one led to another and that led to another and then the package was gone and he didn't feel better. It was something rare, but it happened sometimes. _Depression, panic attack, a break down._ His brother had lots of names for that feeling. It didn't feel at all like any of those names.

The class had been terrible, he spent the whole time trying to focus on the lesson he was receiving, instead of in John's hair and how badly he wanted to touch it and hold it and drown in his smell and God, when did all of this happened? When did the game become something more than just that?

He thought about how utterly _stupid_ it was to let this feeling sink inside his head because of a person. A _person. Sentiment_. Pathetic. He was disappointed of himself. But now he had awoken. He had taken the veil off his eyes, he realized of how pointless it was falling for someone. Damn it, no. He didn't _fall_ for John. He just had a slip. He messed up momentarily, he was crazy.

He definitely didn't want to be with John Watson.

Someone cleared his throat behind him. Sherlock turned immediately, hoping sincerely John would be the one behind him and hating himself for it.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?"

Shit. Mr. Hikes.

Sherlock threw the cigarette to the floor and stepped on it quickly. "Good morning, Mr. Hikes." He said smiling weakly and trying to sound as charming as possible.

"Smoking in school. What a transgression Holmes, what a transgression." He said shaking his head disappointed.

"I'm sorry, I just...I felt the need-"

"I sincerely hope..." Mr Hikes cut him off completely. "...you don't feel the need of doing it this afternoon, in detention."

Sherlock's smile fell. "Detention?"

"You should be thankful I won't tell the principal, Holmes."

Sherlock closed his mouth immediately and realized it was better not protesting against that, because Hikes was right and he couldn't stand being thrown out of another school again. Which would surely happen if the director found out. No. He had to stay here. For John. For no one. For himself. Definitely _not_ for John. He nodded.

"Great. See you in detention. Now go to class." Hikes said with authority and started walking back towards the building. Sherlock followed him with a sigh. How many more things today could possibly go wrong?.

\------------------------

Lunch passed by. Sherlock was reading this book, Jack Kerouac's _On The Road._ He was waiting patiently for John, but John didn't show up, which somehow made sense, since he was the one who had told him to back off and leave him alone. Which was the most rational answer. Which meant he should be happy with it. But he wasn't. He was feeling miserable. And he hated that.

People were leaving the cafeteria and Sherlock knew John had Chemistry club and smiled because John was so different from so many people he had ever known, he was unique, special, smart...

John passed by the corner and took a deep breath. Sherlock sat up straight, closed his book and looked at him, not smiling but not looking completely closed to a conversation. John didn't look at him, he walked past him, looking straight ahead, not blinking, clearly trying his best to ignore him as much as possible. Sherlock frowned and bit his lip, all he could see now was John's back, walking determined, hurriedly, towards the Chemistry lab, and he got lost in the crowd. Sherlock sighed and stood up to go to Hikes' classroom. This was going to be a long afternoon.

When he entered the classroom, he found Irene peeking through the window. He mumbled. "Afternoon."

She smiled widely. "Hello, Sherlock. Lovely to see you here." She winked at him.

He smiled weakly and Hikes entered to the classroom, now they had to organize it and shake the erasers he and John hadn't done last time. That had been a great detention. This one was... Boring.

As soon as Hikes left, Irene sat on his desk and crossed her leg. "So... What brings you here?"

"Hm?" Sherlock said distracted, he really didn't want to pay attention to her and he preferred shaking erasers in silence, well in this case. He missed John so much.

"That why are you here? Why did you get a detention?"

"Smoking." Sherlock shrugged without looking at her. "You?"

"I was caught kissing someone in the back of the school."

"Who?" Sherlock asked curiously.

"Jim." She said with a silly smile.

Sherlock did all he could to disguise the disgust which drew on his face. "And why isn't he here?" Which was, of course, a relief.

"Hikes thought he might help at the cafeteria." She said giggling.

Sherlock smiled a bit.

"So... Smoking. What a bad boy!" She said raising her eyebrow.

"I needed a cigarette."

"Really? Why?" She looked at him suspiciously. How the hell did she manage to sort things out so easily? This girl was smart!

Sherlock pursed his lips and didn't answer. Instead he looked down. He stood silent.

She made a big 'O' with her mouth. "The boy."

"Who?"

She laughed. "Oh, he broke your heart didn't he? I warned you he would do that, you remember? You weren't drunk yet, I believe."

He shook his head.

She smiled. "What happened with the 'I've been reliably informed I don't have one?'"

"I don't have one." Sherlock said seriously.

"Oh, Sherlock, you are so sweet."

Well that was a first. Sherlock had been called many things in his life, but _sweet_ was never one of them. "Sweet?" He said confused.

"What happened?"

"We had a disagreement."

"I have to say I saw it coming. That was never going to end well anyway."

Irene _did_ have a point.

"I suppose you're right. It was never going to end well."

She nodded and leaned closer to his head. "Is he in here?"

"There's just you and me in here." Sherlock said with a _don't be stupid_ face.

"I mean here the school!" She said moving her hands in the air.

Sherlock should have said no. It was the logical way to act, to lie. But somehow he couldn't bring himself up to do it. He couldn't lie to her. Why? He stood silent trying to think.

Her smile widened and she leaned even closer to Sherlock. And Sherlock realized he didn't like when people did that unless that people were  _John_. And dear lord why did he keep thinking about John?

She touched Sherlock's leg and placed her hand there. She whispered to his ear, "You know I could help you with that don't you? Do you want to make him jealous? Do you want to see how much he cares about you?"

And Sherlock shouldn't have but he nodded.

"Who is it? Come on Sherlock, tell me, who was the responsible for breaking your little heart?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"Then sorry, I won't help you."

"I never asked for your help."

"But you need it."

And then again, Irene had a point. Why was she so right in everything today? What if people realized he had fallen for someone? What if they realized that _someone_ was a boy? No. He had a reputation to take care of. And if they found out, they would hurt John too. Of course, it was the best choice. How come he didn't realize he needed Irene's help?

"I'm sorry, I can't say."

"I'm sorry. I won't help." Irene said decidedly.

"Irene...please?" Sherlock hated begging.

"I am willing to help, Sherlock, but I'd like to know first who we're dealing with! I'm just curious." She winked at him.

"I don't know." Sherlock hesitated.

"Come on, I proved you I can keep your secrets, do you still not trust me?"

Sherlock sighed. He stood silent for a moment. "John Watson."

Irene smiled even wider and didn't look surprised for a single second.


	15. It's Only Make Believe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You look miserable, you know that?"

"...John Watson." Irene repeated after a silent moment, which seemed to last an eternity for Sherlock, who was now wondering if he had made a terrible mistake and why on earth did he do that?

"Look, just forget about what I say, let's shut up and shake erasers. I don't need your help, I don't need anything." He said taking some of the erasers from the bag and moving towards the windows to open them. He had lots of memories about _that_ detention. But now these memories weren't very helpful.

"Oh, no chance my dear. I will definitely help you. How come he rejected _you_?" She asked a little surprised now.

"He didn't _reject_ me!" Sherlock said defensively.

"So, you want me to pretend to be your Girlfriend?" Irene said, and Sherlock looked at her immediately.

"I...have a reputation to take care of. I can't just let this boy come and ruin it."

"...this boy you fell in love with..." Irene said with a smile.

"I _didn't_ fall in love with him. It was a _slip_! I don't feel such... Sentiments."

"Oh you may be a very good actor but I didn't believe a single one of the words you just said!"

"Can we change the topic, please? And finish this detention as soon as possible?" Sherlock said shaking the erasers in front of Irene.

She smiled. "Okay." She said coughing and moving towards Sherlock to take erasers from the bag.

They shook erasers for a while in silence. That until...

"Wait! But you arrived to the school this year!" Irene said.

"So were you, and you were already sticking your tongue down Jim's throat. You're the one to talk!"

"I know Jim wouldn't mind-" She said leaning close to Sherlock and whisper to his ear. "-if I were with you. We're nothing after all."

"Good for Jim." Sherlock said trying to ignore her.

"Okay."

"Okay what?" Sherlock asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"This will be fun." She said with a small smile. "I'd love to see the nerd hating _me_ for being with _you_."

"I wouldn't like that." Sherlock said shaking his head.

"Do you have any other choice?"

Sherlock sighed. "Fine."

\--------------------------

The detention passed by. Irene and Sherlock talked eventually while they shook the erasers (and ruined their outfits too), when Mr Hikes came by. "You can go now, but you are warned. Both of you! Next time I catch you transgressing the rules of the school, you will certainly have worse consequences. Clear?"

Irene and Sherlock nodded and left the classroom.

And John was entering the hallway they were in.

Sherlock swallowed hard. He couldn't move. He _missed_ John so much. But it was for their sake. Next thing he felt was Irene's hand holding his, tenderly. He took his eyes off John, who didn't seem to realize yet that they were in the hallway, because he was too far away. She took Sherlock by his jacket collar and leaned him closer to her face.

They started talking in whispers, and really, Irene was such a good actress, anybody who passed by could swear these two were absolutely mad for each other. Sherlock tried his best to look natural and smiled, forcing himself not to turn his back and look at John, who was approaching them.

Suddenly Irene chuckled lowly, but loud enough for anybody who was close to them to hear, and Sherlock saw John's back, as he passed them by and continued walking down the hall. He saw the tension drawing in John's shoulders.

As his silhouette disappeared Sherlock loosened from Irene's embrace and let out a sigh, leaning against the lockers. He closed his eyes. This wasn't okay. He knew he was hurting John. And that was killing him.

Irene leaned close to him with a smile. "Oh, we are going to be the most beautiful couple of the school."

Sherlock turned to look at her. "We're not a couple."

"The other people don't need to know that, Sherlock." She said lifting her eyebrow.

Sherlock sighed.

\---------------------------

Chemistry club passed incredibly slowly, and John couldn't help but think about Sherlock _all_ the time, and he hated that. He hated not being able to take him out of his brain, and at the same time he didn't _want_ to, because if he did, he was resigning to put an end to everything, and he certainly didn't want that either.

He sighed as he took his backpack and left the classroom, he waved goodbye to Molly and left the room. He wanted to get home as soon as possible, it had been a very long day.

Maybe Sherlock would be right next to his house again, maybe even though he could not talk to him, he could see him through his window, and that would be enough. Well, not enough actually, but something.

At least they still had the history project left.

He walked down the hall when he stopped abruptly and widened his eyes. _Is that Sherlock?_ He couldn't see the greaser boy quite well, his back was turned against him, but he was with a girl, Irene.

John kept walking telling himself not to look at the couple. No. Absolutely not. Maybe a little. Just a small movement of his head, just turning a bit, a tiny bit... Yes. It was Sherlock. He was talking to Irene and they were incredibly close, like he used to with John, she was holding his hand and laughing and _what the hell?_ He sighed and kept walking down the hall, he would not turn this time. That had been a huge mistake.

When he got to his car he felt a huge impulse to turn on the radio, close himself on his "rocket" and drown his feelings with Tchaikovsky, Beethoven or Bach... He turned on the radio and... shit. Rock n' roll. Rock n' fucking roll playing incredibly loud and a thousand memories passed by John's head, and he was so angry and he just started punching the passenger's seat because that's where Sherlock sat and turned off the radio but rock n' roll was still invading his mind and he just kept punching and punching and punching. He wasn't feeling better now.

Nothing was getting better.

Which was confirmed as soon as he saw the happy couple walking hand by hand and smiling. They got into Irene's car (Irene was driving) and they looked so genuinely happy, which made John feel genuinely heartbroken. Though he didn't know how that feeling was. He felt...hollow. Yes, probably a heart break. Or maybe just a heart attack.

He turned on the radio again, he needed Tchaikovsky. He _needed_ it. Rock n' roll station again. He was about to change it, when _Well I'm so lonely, I get so lonely I could die..._ Hell, was Presley a fucking fortune-teller? He closed his eyes, leaned his head on the back of the seat and took deep breaths, as he heard the car next to him starting up and passing by. Just for this once, he wouldn't change the station until Presley stopped singing.

He never changed the station, actually.

\---------------------

"What did John look like?" Sherlock said after standing silently against the lockers.

"He... Stopped for a second, made sure it _really_ was you, looked very surprised for a second and then he just kept walking. He certainly wasn't expecting that." Irene said, standing right next to him.

"I'm going home now." Sherlock said turning his back against Irene.

"Sherlock, wait!" She said loudly. He stopped and turned to look at her.

"What?" He said with a sigh.

"Two things: one, stop looking so freaking miserable. Two, I'll take you home." She said with a small smile.

"What? I _don't_ look miserable!"

"You do and you can't!. If you are going to be a pretender, you have to be a _great_ pretender, you follow?"

Sherlock nodded, understanding the reference.

"Good, let's go."

"Where?" Sherlock asked quizzically.

"Something tells me John hasn't left yet." She said with a wink and taking Sherlock by his hand and leading him towards the parking lot.

"Now smile and try to look as if you're having the time of your life." She whispered into his ear as soon as they approached the door.

"I'm not."

"That's why I said _as if_!"

"I don't know how. I'm a greaser, not an actor." Sherlock said shrugging.

"You and modesty don't match. Mm... Think about you _and_ John and how... You held his hand and kissed him..."

Sherlock smiled for a moment, as the memories passed by. He didn't clarify Irene that they had never actually had a _real_ kiss and they barely held hands but the thought of John just made everything better.

Irene chuckled, looking down and shook her head. "You _are_ head over heels! For God's sake Sherlock!"

"Stop talking and let's go." He said trying to keep the same smile that drew on his face a moment earlier.

Irene, as usual, was right. John was inside his car, but wasn't turning it on. Sherlock couldn't see quite well what he was doing, but something was wrong. He felt an impulse of going to John's car and saying he was sorry and he loved him and not Irene and...shit. _Loved_ him? No. No. Definitely not. He didn't love John. Love was too big of a word. He smiled again and looked at Irene and they started talking, maybe this would wake him up from his stupidity. Love. What a joke.

John's voice came to his mind, reminding him of their fight. _What if I'm just a joke to you?_

What if? His life would be easier, for sure.

They got into Irene's car. "I can't drive." Sherlock said seriously. Well, technically, he could drive after the accident but doing it so reminded him of John. So it was better avoiding any memory and why the hell did everything remind him of John? This was stupid, utterly stupid.

Irene took the driver's seat without asking Sherlock. She just turned to look at him and said, "Where to?"

"My house." Sherlock answered without hesitation, because he was dying to be in his house alone listening to Buddy Holly or Chuck Berry until things were better which seemed to be never because he was just messing up and messing up. The crime scene could wait for today.

Irene started the car and when they took off John hadn't. Was John okay? Sherlock told himself not to care about it because he and John were nothing and he didn't love him. But he couldn't help but wonder.

As soon as they arrived to Sherlock's house, Irene looked startled. "Wow. What a manor."

"Yes..." Sherlock said, a little embarrassed, because his posh house wasn't like him at all. He focused his attention back to Irene. "Listen, I want to ask you something."

"I hear you." Irene said calmly.

"I...well...why are you helping me?" Sherlock said, not being able to find other words to formulate the question.

Irene smiled. "Oh..."

She made herself comfortable on the car and turned to look at Sherlock. "I love causing trouble and spending time with you. Why wouldn't I?"

"But do you want me to pay you for it... Or something?"

She shook her head. "I'm offended. Of course not, I mean it, I like just go around creating problems, and this looks like a very interesting one. Also, it's not like I don't get anything from this deal, I'm dating one of the most popular boys in school! That's going to give me so much power!" Irene said excitedly, as if it was the most normal thing to say, then she leaned over and kissed Sherlock's earlobe.

"...well, for whatever reason, thanks...for your help." Sherlock struggled at thanking someone.

"My pleasure, Sherlock."

"Well...goodbye." Sherlock said opening the door. Mrs Hudson came out and gave him a huge hug. Sherlock felt a bit embarrased while Irene just laughed.

"Wait! Aren't you going to invite me into your house?" She asked, hiding the smile and looking very serious.

And he definitely didn't want to. He didn't just allow everyone into his house. It seemed like some kind of private space where he could be himself and he felt really vulnerable when he opened the doors of his house to someone else. Well, not that he had the experience, the only one had been John, and it didn't finish well in the end. He tried to think of polite ways of saying no.

He stood silent for a while, until Irene chuckled. "I'm just kidding with you, Sherlock! See you tomorrow, my dear!" She winked at him and left.

Sherlock turned towards his house, leaving behind a confused Mrs. Hudson, and stumbled in his bed wondering if John was still at the school, and if he really was okay. Or not. Maybe the crime scene couldn't wait after all.

He threw his backpack on the entrance, sighed and went out to take a taxi.

\-----------------------

It had been exactly eight days since the crime at the house next door happened, and John wasn't really used to seeing these policemen and investigators all the time. Sherlock wasn't there, apparently. John couldn't come too close to the house, so it was hard to guess. He took a deep breath and entered his house. Actually, rock n' roll had been a good therapy. Somehow, he felt much better now.

He was in the living room, drinking some coffee so he could stay awake. He had no idea of for how long he stood on the parking lot, watching people passing by as he tried to find comfort in whichever crappy song that crappy station and worked hard in not thinking about Sherlock but how much he hated that music, so he would have an excuse to hate Sherlock too. Not a very logical assumption, but for now, it seemed to be working out.

He took his homework and went upstairs, he closed himself in his bedroom. Biology could also be a therapy. He was definitely not doing history homework today. Sometimes it was hard focusing, there was a lot of fuss coming from the crime scene, police patrols, people chatting...Sherlock. Okay, now John was hallucinating, he was actually hearing Sherlock's voice. That didn't make sense, Sherlock must probably be at Irene's house, doing lots of stuff... The thought made John's stomach twist. He heard his voice again.

He looked through the window, the greaser was talking to Dimmock, he looked so good. John wanted to go downstairs and talk to him about the crime, just because he knew Sherlock needed someone to talk to, someone to help him. He just kept staring, trying to stop the thoughts running through his mind.

He was so lost in thoughts he didn't realize in which moment the greaser turned his face towards John's window and now they were just staring at each other and time was freezing and it was just the two of them and John couldn't look away. Sherlock's expression was unreadable, yet he wasn't taking his eyes off either.

John could swear the greaser smiled. He recognized Sherlock's smiles quite well, he distinguished the fake ones from the real ones, and this one wasn't an evil smile, it was one of those incredible genuine smiles, one of those smiles which was only saved for John.

But John couldn't smile back, he couldn't fake, he just couldn't smile at Sherlock anymore, he resisted the urge of returning the smile, shook his head, looked down and when he looked back up, Sherlock's smile was gone as well, and the moment was over. He closed the curtain and forced himself to go back to his bed and continue studying and doing the homework. He couldn't, every time he tried, he heard Sherlock's voice, and it was getting harder and harder to ignore it.

After a long day, he was finally able to fall asleep.

\-----------------------

"Wow!" Sebastian looked at Sherlock in surprise. "I told you! That dolly wanted nobody but you!"

Sherlock smiled weakly. "Yes... We realized we were being silly and there was no reason at all for us not being together."

"Well done, scorch! I would die to bang a girl like her!"

Sherlock tried to cover the expression of displeasure in his face. Wonderful friends he had there. They were standing by the lockers and classes were about to start. Jim wasn't there and Sherlock still wondered if he really was okay with him "dating" Irene. Greg was silent. He looked at Sherlock quietly. The bell rang.

Sebastian sighed. "Hell. I can't stand school anymore. See ya." He said leaving.

Sherlock smiled shyly and Greg and turned to walk away when Greg reached him. "Sherlock, wait!"

"What?" Sherlock looked at him quizzically.

Greg talked lower, even though now there were less people in the hallway. "What happened?"

"What happened of what?" Sherlock said lifting his eyebrow.

"Are you serious about this thing with Irene?"

Sherlock got defensive. "What's that supposed to mean? She is my girlfriend!" The words felt weird coming from Sherlock's mouth.

"Oh no no no! Don't start lying to me, Sherlock. What about John?"

Sherlock frowned. "John who?"

Greg snorted. "What do you mean John who? John Watson of course!"

Sherlock shrugged. "What about that nerd?"

Greg looked at him surprised. "What happened, Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked down. Of course Greg knew, and he didn't have a problem with that, as long as he didn't open his mouth, but he trusted Greg enough. He probably wouldn't. He sighed. "He's not in the picture anymore."

"What? Since when?"

"Stop asking questions!" Sherlock said lifting his hand. " I don't want to answer them!"

"But, Sherlock, you looked so happy!"

Sherlock stood silent. Was he really looking so miserable?

"Look, I don't know what the hell happened between you and John, but whatever is going on now with you and Irene, it just...doesn't look real. How do you think he feels about it?"

"What the hell am I supposed to know?" Sherlock shrugged. "I don't care how that nerd feels about me."

"Well, let me tell you that the boy _feels_ about you. And he is going to be heartbroken."

Sherlock tried to think and convince himself it wasn't true. "Well, that's his problem, not mine. See you later." He sighed.

Greg talked louder. "You look miserable, you know that?"

"I _feel_ miserable, Greg. Goodbye." He said leaving without looking at his friend.

 


	16. No One Knows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So we just...pretend?"

On Wednesday, after two very long days of school in which everything and everyone reminded him of Sherlock and the happy couple and how wonderful they looked, John arrived home. Before, he preferred a thousand times staying at school and not coming back to his house because he was incredibly lonely, but now school was even more lonely and all he longed for all day long was going home and leaving everything behind.

He parked the car, he didn't turn on the radio on the whole ride back home. He got out and his mom received him on the door, arms crossed, she was holding a piece of paper in his hand, and she had tears on her face. John feared the worse. "Hi, mom." He approached her looking worried, "Are you okay?"

His mom shook her head and looked at him seriously. "Could you please explain this to me?"

She handed him the piece of paper. It was the first notes report of the year. He had gotten a D in Physics.

Shit.

\--------------------

John woke up next morning, he didn't remember at which time he had fallen asleep. He remembered he was crying, he remembered he had gotten into a fight with his father and called him a compulsive cheater and a shit father and then...he had a bruise on his shoulder. It hurt. John had had enough, he was tired of being the perfect boy, of working incredibly hard to fill their expectations, and knowing he never would. Everything was upside down now.

They had breakfast in silence and then he and Harry rode to school. As soon as they got inside the car, Harry excitedly bent to turn on the radio and she put _that_ shitty station and rock n' roll started playing. In that precise moment, John lost his patience: "TURN THAT SHIT OFF!" He yelled at her, and she stared at him, looking surprised. Yet she didn't say anything and turned it off.

The rest of the path was silent. He didn't feel like talking, anyway.

John never needed a friend as much as he needed one now. But he didn't have one. Mike wouldn't want to listen. Maybe he would, but John wouldn't tell him anyway. The only person in the world he felt he trusted enough to tell him his problems was Sherlock. Well, the _old_ Sherlock. The one he was with John, the one who was not an idiot.

He knew the old Sherlock would hold him and tell him everything was going to be fine and he was smart and strong enough and incredible because that was what the old Sherlock did. But that one didn't exist anymore. The new Sherlock was now probably making out with Irene before starting the day of class.

The bell rang. History. They had _history_. John sighed. He wanted to do everything but going to that class. He stood there for a while thinking about how much had changed in so little time (again!) first he hated the class, then it was his favorite, now he hated it again. He picked his books from the locker and went to the classroom.

\-------------------------

Sherlock could swear something was wrong with John. He wasn't acting normally, which made sense since things were horrible between them, but there was something...different in John. Sherlock was already in the classroom when John entered, and he forced himself to ignore him as much as he could but it was so _fucking_ difficult, especially when John looked so...sad? He couldn't quite tell.

During the whole class, Sherlock spent the time looking at John's neck, at his hair, at his back, wondering what the hell was wrong. John didn't participate during the lesson, which reaffirmed his point! John _always_ participated. He didn't look up from his notebook, he barely took notes...his mind was definitely somewhere else.

Since their fight, Sherlock had told himself that eventually he would go back to normality, overcome his phase of stupidity and forget John completely, but it was quite the contrary: he was regretting more and more everyday the damn choices he had made, every time he saw John he felt the need to hug him, to hold his hand, to kiss him and make things better, but he couldn't and he wouldn't. He knew he maybe had overreacted that day, and John was right, it had been a stupid argument, it was stupid leaving things just like that. He wanted to do things right, but he had no idea how.

\-------------------------

John knew History wasn't going to make things better, but he somehow held the hope maybe they were forced to do another work in pairs, or discuss the project, so he could spend some time with Sherlock, even though now they pretended they never even knew each other. But he had more important things to worry about: Physics. How was he supposed to get an scholarship now? He had lost a subject. This was unacceptable. This was all Sherlock's fault. Everything was Sherlock's fault.

He stood silent for a moment, knowing that blaming Sherlock for everything wasn't going to help him and pretending to hate him wasn't going to make him actually _hate_ him. He simply couldn't. As much as he tried, he couldn't.

The rest of the day passed by surprisingly fast, and when he realized, the bell was ringing for lunch. John didn't feel like eating at all, so he thought the best thing he could do was go to the library and do some homework and study Physics and studying made him happy. Or so he thought.

He passed by his locker to get his books out of it, while everybody was moving across the hallway. He took them out with a sigh and closed the locker, he turned and tried to react but it was too late, Sebastian was approaching him and pushed him strongly towards the lockers and first thing John felt was his freaking shoulder hitting against the metal and the pain came as the greaser passed by. The books fell to the floor strenuously. "Watch your step, Nerd!" Sebastian said between laughs. Jim walked right behind him, having a laugh.

People vanished but John stood there, his back against the lockers, rubbing his shoulder and bending to pick up the books. He was _so_ angry. And no, no, no, he wasn't crying, he wasn't going to cry. He didn't want to cry. The tears started streaming down his face. He couldn't keep them anymore, he had kept them long enough. His shoulder was killing him, reminding him of how absolutely fucked up everything was now. He had all the rights to cry. So he sat with his back and his head leaned against the lockers while tears streamed down his face. He closed his eyes and let them fall.

"Life's getting tough, isn't it?" He heard after a while as someone whispered to his ear, he turned to look immediately, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes to make sure it was who he thought it was. Sherlock was sitting right next to him, leaned against the lockers too.

John tried to sound calm. He turned to look at somewhere else, he couldn't stand looking at Sherlock, not now. "What are you doing here?"

"You're sad."

"So?" John said, trying to clean the tears he had on his face.

"I can't stand to see you sad." Sherlock said softly.

"Don't worry about me. You can go, your girlfriend must be waiting for you." John said and it sounded more hurt than he intended to.

Sherlock shook his head. "She can wait. Anything can wait. What happened?"

John shook his head and looked down, trying to swallow the knot on his throat, because this was too much. "Nothing. I'm fine."

"John..." Sherlock said looking at him seriously. Then he reached his finger to John's face and cleaned a tear that was still shining down his cheek. John retreated, knowing this was dangerous.

"It's just-" John took a deep breath. "My life is a mess. I had a fight with my family, I lost Physics, which means I lost the opportunity to get into a proper college, I'm good for nothing and that is never going to change." The tears were rolling down his face again. "And then there's you..." John closed his mouth as soon as he realized what he just said.

Sherlock turned to look at him. "What about me?

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing." John said, half to Sherlock, half to himself, because that was all there was left.

"John..." Sherlock pleaded.

John realized that it was the first time in lots of days he was talking to Sherlock again. He had to seize this opportunity. Plus he was calling him John. Now they could have a proper talk. He closed his eyes, still not sure of what he was going to say. "Why didn't you tell me...you liked her?" His voice came almost like a whisper, while he shook his head.

Sherlock stood silent, not taking his eyes off John.

"You could have saved me so much time, so many hopes, so many illusions, so many thoughts...Just tell me why, Sherlock. That's all I need."

Sherlock stood silent and looked down. He wasn't going to answer. John knew it. He snorted. "You know what? I don't want to know. I have more important things to think about." He said looking somewhere else except facing Sherlock.

"Why did he hit you?" Sherlock said, changing the topic and turning so he could see John's face properly, who still didn't dare to look at him.

"Who?" Because _how the hell did Sherlock Holmes always knew everything?_

"Your dad, of course."

John tried to wipe off his tears. But they kept rolling down. "Hm...hm..." He couldn't calm himself enough to talk about it. He breathed for a moment, gathered as much courage as possible, and turned to look at Sherlock. "We had a fight." And his voice was breaking again. "It's just...they expect so much from me and I'm nothing, I'm no one, I'm useless... I just...." He cried again.

Sherlock took him by his chin and lifted him up so they were properly face to face. And it was the first time in six days John looked at those blue/green/gray eyes and he shuddered. He ordered his brain not to look at Sherlock's lips, because they were nothing. "John look at me."

John looked at him and never wanted to break the eye contact again.

"How many times do I have to tell you you are the most incredible person I've ever met, that you are smart as hell and you are going to be the best doctor in the country? Because the story is getting old."

John smiled weakly and turned to look away from Sherlock, but suddenly the greaser's arm surrounded him and he was hugging him and now John was leaning his head in Sherlock's shoulder and he just kept crying, not saying another word. He reached the conclusion, however, that he was perhaps not only crying about his family, and there was so much to it than that.

He probably shouldn't be doing it, he knew it was wrong, but he _needed_ Sherlock more than he ever did before, he needed his company, he needed his advice, his help, his support. So he just let himself go and stood there, his head on Sherlock's shoulder, enjoying it while it lasted, but he kept crying and he couldn't stop and he hated that.

"Shhh..." Sherlock whispered in his ear. Then the greaser leaned and pressed a kiss on John's head, staying there as well. He was saying something John couldn't quite understand, then he did. "I'm sorry, John. I'm so sorry."

John knew what he was sorry about, but he didn't want to push the matter more, he wanted to enjoy the here and now, even though everything seemed so messed up, at least there was something that felt right, temporarily right. Now it was John's turn to say "Shhhh... Please don't say it again."

"I mean it. I'm sorry for ruining _us._ " Sherlock said lowly.

"You didn't ruin us, I didn't either. It was meant to happen. We both knew it since the beginning."

"Yes. But I never thought it would be like this."

John lifted his head from Sherlock's shoulder and looked at him. He was feeling slightly better now, at least he wasn't crying, and he felt calmed enough to talk about this. "It's better isn't it? Before we became too attached... Before we fell..."

"You're right. It was never going to work."

John nodded and pouted, unable to say anything else, the words were flying in the air.

"So what now?" Sherlock said.

John shrugged. "What can we do?"

"So we just... _pretend?"_ Sherlock said lifting his eyebrow.

"No. We minimize the pain. That's what we're doing."

"I don't find it as simple as you put it." Sherlock said, shaking his head.

John shook his head too. "Do you think it's easy for me? Sherlock, at least you have friends, you have a girlfriend, you have a reputation, all I had was _you._ And now I don't."

"We can still...be friends."

No. No. _No._ That was all John could think about. He couldn't just be his friend. They had never been _just_ friends, because at least in his case, Sherlock passed from being nothing to being everything, just like that. "Sure."

"Good. I mean we still have a history project to do."

Shit. The history project. How was John supposed to ignore Sherlock when they had to do a work together? "Yes."

The bell rang. Lunch time was over. John and Sherlock stood up, John looked at Sherlock and smiled weakly, but didn't make eye contact with him, he just couldn't stand looking at him. he just kept looking down, Sherlock instead was looking fixedly into John's eyes. "Thank you, hm... For everything. And I just don't mean now. Just... Thank you."

Sherlock smiled back. "Thank _you_."

And John looked up and they stared at each other. And time stopped, and again, it was just the two of them and the world could be falling apart and they wouldn't mind but John knew quite well this was the last time, this was the goodbye. Sherlock knew that as well, he just didn't dare to admit it.

"Sherlock! There you are! I've been looking for you everywhere, _love!_ " Irene said, running towards them.

They broke the eye contact and John cleared his throat and turned to look at Irene, frowning. It brought him back to reality. His smile vanished.

 And then Irene reached them and gave Sherlock a kiss, _on the lips._ In front of John, and John just looked away, because this was _wrong,_ in every single possible way, it was so, _so_ wrong. After they kissed, Sherlock turned to look at John, who didn't dare to look at him back and instead was looking at the lockers. His expression was unreadable, but Sherlock knew he was hurt. And he was _so_ sorry. But what was he supposed to do about it?

The greaser turned to look at Irene and smiled, a _fake_ smile, of course. She talked happily. "Let's go, we have lots of things to do, I'll let you drive my rocket, what do you say?"

"Sure." Sherlock nodded. Then he turned to look at John, while Irene held his hand. "I'll see you later, okay?"

John didn't answer. He was still looking at the lockers.

"John?"

"JOHN!"

He turned to look at Sherlock, and his hand with Irene's and couldn't erase the image of their kiss from his mind and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it and he felt powerless and what did Sherlock say? Oh, right, see you later. "Yes. Bye."

He picked up his books, didn't look at Irene and turned his back to lose himself in the hall. Sherlock stood looking at him as he left.

Irene turned to look at him worriedly. "What the hell were you doing, Sherlock?"

"He was sad."

"So?" She shrugged.

"So it was _my_ fault! He was feeling miserable and it's all _my_ fucking fault! What did you expect me to do about that? I just wanted to see him happy."

"You were supposed to get over him, not console him!" She complained.

"But he was crying! I can't stand to see him cry!"

Irene chuckled. " _Crying?_ What a dolly!"

Sherlock threw her a killing gaze. "Don't you dare, Irene. Don't you dare to say one single fucking thing about John Watson!"

She lifted her hands. "Sorry, sorry."

"But I want to be his friend." Sherlock said lowly, very lowly, in an almost imperceptible way.

"Sherlock! That's not what you have to do!"

"Who the hell do you think you are to tell me what to do and what not to do?" Sherlock said angrily.

"I'm the person who knows your secret and it's willing to help you hide it! You should be thanking me!" She said, getting a bit angry too.

"It's just... I don't know what to do, Irene." Sherlock said more calmly.

"Sherlock, you have to cut him out of your life. Simple as that."

"It's not simple! Whatever it is, it's _not_ simple!"

"...and you're not seeing him again."

"What?" Sherlock looked at her seriously.

"You told him you would see him later."

"Did I?"

Irene nodded. "Yes. And you won't. That won't help you."

"Of course I have to see him, we go to the same school, we have to do a project together!"

"But that is not going to do you any good, Sherlock. You know that."

"How can you be so sure about it?"

"Because you just can't try to cut him out of your life and then go and work together! You will _never_ be over him with that attitude."

"What if I don't want to get over him?"

"Well, that's your problem. But I believe he does."

Irene was fucking right as usual and Sherlock hated that. They couldn't keep working together, but Sherlock did want to be John's friend, he felt he couldn't just cut him out of his life, but at the same time that was exactly what he wanted, but it wasn't easy, he couldn't just pretend nothing happened because he didn't know how to do that. "I hate this, Irene."

She touched his cheek. "I know, dear. But it's for your sake, don't you think?"

She was right. It was for his sake.

\--------------------------

John didn't want to go to school the next morning. It was logical, school was becoming a huge burden more than a joy. And Sherlock and Irene would be there and they would be kissing and then Sherlock would go and talk to John because they're _friends_ and be nice and adorable but then go back to Irene and be the annoying greaser he is. And today he was particularly not feeling in the mood for that.

His parents were disappointed at him. They could have expected it from Harry, they never held high expectations about her, which was incredibly sad, because not even his parents believed in her talents! How was she supposed to do so? His sister was miserable too. Clara avoided her all the time at school, and Harry tried to reach her, to talk to her, but it was pointless. She had been sober for the past few weeks, but she was certainly going to fall again. There, not even her own brother believed in her talents. Poor Harry.

He didn't like the look of disappointment in his mother's face. He told himself he was doing it for her and, gathering courage, finally decided it was best going to school. All he had to do was to avoid Sherlock at all costs. Sure, right, incredibly easy, avoiding the most popular boy in the school.

He hadn't talked much to Mike because there wasn't much to say. Well, there were lots of things to say but he didn't want to tell him those. He knew he needed a friend, but nor Mike nor Sherlock filled in that concept for him. One for being less than a friend, the other being more than a friend.

He sighed as he entered the school and walked towards the lockers. He looked all over the place to see if Sebastian or Jim were near, because he certainly couldn't stand being pushed against the lockers again, not today. They didn't seem to be around. He opened the locker and a note fell right into his feet. He opened it, saw the _John_ written on it and recognized the writing: Sherlock. His heart started beating fast and he felt a little nervous. His hands were sweating and he thought about how absurd it was to feel so anxious about something as stupid as a note, but it wasn't just a note, it was a note from Sherlock. He unfolded it and saw the message:

_Can't take time to reunite to do the history project_. _Develop the first two pages, I'll do the rest. -SH._

John sighed, Sherlock had realized they couldn't just be friends too.


	17. Maybe Tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I can't do this alone!"

John spent the whole weekend working very hard on the history project, mostly because he wanted to prove Sherlock that he could do well without him. On Monday he would just hand Sherlock the work and he would have to pass it on the typewriter, and that would be it. They didn't need to talk to each other. Which was good. Wasn't it?

The police had taken off the tapes from the house next door, apparently they had gathered all the evidence they could, but they weren't getting anywhere. John had become very interested on the crime, not only because of Sherlock, but because his neighbors and because he had seen them in such state... He closed his eyes when the image of the husband came to his mind. It was still impressive.

But there was something else in there that John hadn't dared to admit, being at the crime scene, he felt something different, he felt _excitement._ He felt the blood pumping through his veins and maybe it was because he was being called 'doctor' or because Sherlock was right next to him, but it was exciting, and terrifying at the same time. Just like what he used to have with Sherlock. But not anymore.

As soon as he saw the police taking the tape off he felt a bit disappointed, because this was the only way John had to still catch the last glimpses of that mysterious Sherlock, whose brain worked unstoppable, who _deduced,_ who was so different from the Sherlock of school. He loved that Sherlock. Damn it. Loved? _Loved?_ Love was a very strong word, he had some affection towards him. That was all. Love. No. No. _No._ He didn't love Sherlock. He couldn't love someone he couldn't have. Except he did. No. He didn't.

He peeked through the window, Sherlock was nowhere around. Lots of police rushing in and out of the house, but Sherlock wasn't there. He probably was with Irene and that shouldn't bother John because she was his girlfriend and it made sense but he was so fucking jealous. Because it didn't make sense at all. Just two weeks ago they had been wonderful and happy and Sherlock held his hand and kissed his cheek and what happened with that?

He had better things to think about. Something less... Bitter.

\-------------------------

"Harry!" She didn't turn.

He raised his voice in the middle of the hall. "HARRY!"

She opened the door of the locker and hid her face behind it. She was trying to avoid him. Sherlock hadn't thought about it, probably John had told her he had been the one on the black Cadillac. He didn't feel anger towards her, he was okay with that, he got over it. It took him a while, but he made peace with it. Plus, she was John's sister. Sherlock couldn't hate her.

He approached the locker and opened it wider, so Harry's face was exposed. She smiled shyly. "Oh Sherlock, I didn't hear you!"

"Don't even try, Harry. I know you're avoiding me, and I know why." He said shaking his head.

She looked down, not feeling capable of looking at him in the eyes. "Sherlock, I..."

He lifted his hand to stop her from talking. "I'm not here to talk about the accident. I know you're sorry. And I'm okay with that. Really. It's fine. I'm here to talk about John."

She frowned. "About John?"

"Yes." He nodded.

"Why don't you just... Talk to him?"

"I've tried, Harry. But he won't talk to me. And that is fine too, I understand it. He wants to stay as far as possible. But that we're no longer... John and Sherlock doesn't mean that I don't care about him anymore."

"Were you ever John _and_ Sherlock?" She talked lowly.

"I want to believe we were."

"It didn't seem like it." She shook her head.

"Why do you say that?" Sherlock said lifting his eyebrow.

She folded her arms and looked at him seriously. "If you _cared_ about him, as you say, you wouldn't have left things like that. You wouldn't have broken his heart, you wouldn't just find someone else just after a fight." She kept shaking her head. "No. That's not what people do. Not when they _are_ something. So that's why I say it seemed you weren't."

"That wasn't what I was asking to know, Harry."

"Fine." She sighed. "What do you want?"

"Is he alright?"

"Why are you asking that?" She asked defensively.

"Because he doesn't seem to be fine at all! He looks miserable, Harry. And he won't talk to me anymore. That's why I'm asking _you!_ "

"Do you think that just because you are no longer 'John and Sherlock', he is going to fall into depression and feel miserable for the rest of his life? You didn't mean _that_ much to him, Sherlock. Stop believing so much of yourself."

"No. I don't think that me not being with him would depress him. I think that having an alcoholic sister, parents who only care about his grades, an abusive father and an unhappy mother would." As soon as he closed his mouth he realized he had crossed the line.

Harry's expressions filled with anger. "Fuck you, Holmes. You're no one to talk about our family." She turned and walked away.

He rushed and grabbed her by the arm. "I'm sorry. Please. I'm just... I'm worried about him. I shouldn't have said that. I know you're recovering and you're doing great and forgive me."

She rolled her eyes. "Never say that to John. He would never forgive you."

"He won't talk to me! I'm serious about that Harry!"

"I don't think that's actually his fault, I think you left this very very clear for him in the exact moment you started to play the back seat bingo with Irene Adler! So don't come to talk to me as if you were the victim! You have been a huge asshole Sherlock!"

"I know I have... I just... I want to make things right. But I don't know how, Harry. I need your help. Please. _Please._ I want John to be fine. I want him to be happy."

"He looked happy when he was with you. I tried to stop it. But I couldn't. I knew better than that, he looked genuinely happy, like I had never seen him before..."

"So, will you help me?"

"Of course not, you idiot! You broke my brother's heart!"

"But I want to make things right!" He pleaded, he _hated_ talking like this, but he was desperate.

"Do you want to know how to make things right? Start by stop acting like a fucking asshole, because that's all you've done. And try and talk to him. And last but not least, break up with that hot girlfriend of yours, because it's more than obvious that you don't love her at _all,_ since you can't stop thinking about my brother."

Sherlock shrugged. "I don't know how to do all the things you just said."

"John told me you were a genius. Think."

Sherlock felt a rush of affection running through his body. John actually _said_ he was a genius. A _genius,_ said the smartest boy in the school. He smiled and just as he did, the bell rang. "Shit, I can't be late for history. Thank you, Harry." He said turning.

"Sherlock, look" she said turning him back. "Two things: one, I really and truly am sorry for the pain I caused you, and two, even though I'm still very pissed at you for what you did, I think you have the right to get John's confidence back. He did look so happy when he was with you..."

Sherlock nodded. "Thank you."

"Oh! And one last thing. If you mention anything about this conversation to my brother, I will kick your ass. Clear?"

"Same goes for you. Please don't tell him anything. Goodbye." He ran towards the classroom.

\--------------------------

He arrived to the classroom as soon as Hikes was entering, almost breathlessly, he mumbled a 'good morning' to Hikes and rushed to his seat. John was looking at his notebook, which was closed. He sat behind him and smiled. He was sure he was going to make things right this time. That didn't mean they were actually going to be together again, but Sherlock didn't want to rule the possibility out. He _needed_ John, he was certain of that. And apparently John needed him as well, and that was great.

The class passed by and John, as had been usual lately, ignored Sherlock completely. But that was going to change. The greaser was certain of that. He was about to become the single most important person in John's life. Because he was starting to realize John was in his.

As soon as the bell rang, John stood up, took his stuff and turned to look at Sherlock. Except he didn't really look at him. He barely looked towards the desk and threw something onto it. Sherlock picked it up, while John stood there still, and looked at it: _History project_. On the left corner of the paper, there was a note. _Please pass it to typewriter. Already finished it. Check if everything's alright_.

Sherlock nodded, John grabbed his backpack and was about to leave when the greaser stood up and called him, louder than he intended to. "John!"

John didn't turn. He stopped for a moment, and then kept walking. Sherlock tried to think fast, before John left. "Hmm... Watson!" He yelled.

John turned and looked at Sherlock seriously. "What do you want, Holmes?"

Sherlock shook his head and looked down. "This is stupid. You can talk to me. You know that, right?"

"I'd rather not." John said, terrifyingly serious.

Sherlock was progressively losing the hope he had gained a few moments ago. "Please, John. Just let me talk to you."

He sighed. "Fine. I hear you."

Sherlock looked around. The classroom was empty. Everybody had left. He moved towards the door and closed it. John looked at him with a frown. "What are you doing?"

"I'd prefer to talk in private." Sherlock said, standing close to him. Not as close as before, but still close.

John snorted. "So your friends don't see you, right?" He smiled sarcastically. "You don't change, do you?"

"I can't do this alone." Sherlock said. His eyes fixed on John's.

"Do what?"

"The project." Sherlock said looking down and holding the paper. But of course, he meant so much more.

John breathed loudly. Sherlock couldn't tell if it was relief or disappointment. "I did everything. All you need to do is pass it to the typewriter..."

"I'm afraid I might ruin it." Sherlock said, feeling a bit more confident.

John looked at him seriously. He wasn't taking his eyes off Sherlock's. And he looked so good...so _different_ from the boy he used to be at the beginning of the year. "There's no chance for you to ruin it. Just pass it, that's all."

"I need your help, John"

"Watson, for you." John said firmly. His voice sounded harsh.

"You said we could be friends."

"I changed my mind. Just like you did."

"Fine, Watson. Whatever!" Sherlock threw his hands in the air.

"What do you need my help for?" John said, exasperated.

"I can't do this without you." Sherlock shook his head. "It's a work in _pairs."_

"I already did all the fucking job!"

"I didn't ask you to do the whole fucking job! I told you each one would do its part!" Sherlock said, not knowing now if he was angry or if he sounded desperate.

"Well, I saved you time. You should thank me. You won. You always do."

"I don't feel like I won." Sherlock bit his lip and stared at John.

John frowned. "Are we still talking about the damn project?"

"You tell me."

"It seems not." John said, looking down.

"It seems not." Sherlock agreed.

"What the hell do you want, then?" John looked at Sherlock seriously. "And I _am_ talking about the project now."

"I want you to help me with it."

"To do what?" He threw his hands up in the air.

"I might need to do some corrections and I would like to discuss them with you." Sherlock was desperately trying to find an excuse, _any_ excuse.

"You can do all the corrections you want."

"John, please."

"Watson."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Watson, please."

"Please what?"

"Help me in here! Look I won't pass anything, _unless_ you come to my house and help me with it!"

John widened his eyes in surprise and looked at Sherlock for a moment, quiet. "It's _our_ grade, it's your problem if you pass it or not."

"You know I don't need a good grade to prove I'm clever." Sherlock said stubbornly.

"Are you implying that I do?"

"No, I know you don't.I just... I wouldn't mind not passing it. You would. So it's up to you, _Watson._ Wether you come and get a good grade, or you don't and we lose."

"Yet you win." John said, folding his arms.

"I always do." Sherlock said winking at him.

John sighed deeply. "Fine. _Fine._ I'll go. But it has to be today and I have Chemistry club..." John knew how much it annoyed Sherlock, so he might as well take advantage of the situation. "...so you have to wait for me."

Sherlock nodded, incredibly easy-going. "I'll wait for you."

"And I drive." John tried to hide the smile drawing in his face, but he couldn't help it.

Sherlock looked at him, surprised by the sudden exhibition of emotion, and smiled back. "You'll drive."

John nodded. "Fine. I'll see you later, then."

Sherlock nodded. "I can't wait."

\----------------------

John couldn't help but feel affection as soon as he got out of the Chemistry Club and saw Sherlock sitting on the bench, reading _On The Road_ and looking so incredibly focused, it was a sight he felt he could never get used to, seeing him so absorbed, so lost in his own world...

It was adorable.

Chemistry Club had been agony. Last time John had been on Sherlock's house, Sherlock literally took him out of the classroom, and this time he kept looking constantly to the door, waiting for Sherlock to enter forcedly and start yelling "I'M BORED!" But it never came, to be honest, he half-wanted it to happen, because this was boring and Sherlock was exciting and it was actually funny pretending to be mad at him.

_Pretending._ Of course he was pretending. He couldn't be mad at Sherlock, how could he? Especially when he came and did things like these! He practically begged John to go with him! And John wished he was strong enough to say _no._ But he couldn't find that strength, not when his heart was bumping out of his chest, not when Sherlock fixed his blue/green/gray eyes on him. He didn't want to be with him, because he knew it was never going to work out and they both had _agreed_ it wasn't going to happen again, and Sherlock had Irene (though John suspected he didn't love her) and they just... It couldn't happen ever.

This might be a huge mistake. But how could he leave Sherlock waiting?

He was absorbed in thoughts when he realized Sherlock had closed the book and was smiling at him. Funny thing is, Sherlock _wanted_ to make things right, John could see that, the way he smiled shyly at him, as if afraid he might just storm off and leave everything just like that, the way he talked to him, apologetically, the way he looked at him...

The bench was empty now. Where did he go?

At which time had Sherlock come so close to him?

John took a step back, trying to increase the distance between them, trying to get as far as possible, Sherlock stopped looking at John and looked down. "I'm sorry, did I scare you?"

"You always scare me." John said with a smile. _I am supposed to be mad at him! Damn it!_ He straightened his face after it.

Sherlock seemed to realize John was trying to be angry with him and smiled. "I finished the book."

"Oh, yes, thanks for waiting. I suppose. At least you didn't break into the classroom and yelled at everyone so..." John smiled again but he didn't _want_ to and why the hell was he smiling? There was nothing to smile about! Sherlock was an idiot. A lovely idiot.

Sherlock smiled and looked at John again. "Yes. Sorry about that."

"No, chemistry was particularly boring that day."

"So... We should better go."

John had to ask. He _had_ to. Probably not the best idea ever, but... "Why are you doing this, Sherlock?"

"Doing what?" Sherlock said innocently.

John moved his hands through the air. "This! All of this! What do you want?"

"I want to do the history project." Sherlock shrugged.

"You don't need me for that, I already did that part."

"No, I don't need you for that. I just _need_ you."

Silence fell between the two of them. They looked around the empty hall, but they didn't look at each other, John because he didn't want to see the moment Sherlock would burst into laughter and say it was all a joke, because _of course_ it was a joke and he was creating false illusions. No. He wasn't creating anything. And Sherlock because he didn't want to look at John shaking his head, looking down and walking away.

But Sherlock didn't burst out in laughter and John didn't leave.

Finally their eyes met again.

"Yes? Well, I'm very sorry about that. I have to go. Just...pass the paperwork to typewriter, that's all. You don't need me for that." John said taking a deep breath and turning his back to walk away. It was the best thing to do. John couldn't let this happen. Not again. No. No. No.

"John?" Sherlock asked confused, frowning.

John turned, further from Sherlock than he wished. "Please...just leave me alone. _Please."_

"No!" Sherlock said firmly.

"I just... I have to think. I... Can't do this. I just can't, Holmes." John said looking down, not daring to face Sherlock.

Sherlock sighed and _hated_ the fact John had just called him Holmes. "You can't what?" He asked, rising his tone.

"Us." John said turning again.

"There is no us, is there? You have made that very clear!" Sherlock was starting to lose his temple.

"Excuse me? _You_ were the one who started with all of this! So don't blame on me!"

Sherlock sighed and shook his head. "What is wrong with us, John?"

John lips twitched just a bit, almost imperceptibly, it was like a small, sad smile, Sherlock did see it. "Lots of things are wrong with us."

"I mean, why do we keep doing this to ourselves?"

"Because we're stupid." John said, trying to light the environment, his anger was leaving again, and he felt a sudden need to hold Sherlock. But he wouldn't.

"Says so the best student in the school..."

"Says so the consulting detective..."

Sherlock smiled and felt a rush of affection because John _remembered_ and that was adorable.

John smiled back. "I'll drive."

"Really?" Sherlock's face brightened.

"But to _your_ house and to _do_ the history project! Understood?" John said firmly.

"I didn't have any other intention." Sherlock said offended.

John snorted. "Oh please, knowing you, we would have ended in a field, having a smoke while you listened to Buddy Holly."

"I never do such things." Sherlock said trying to sound serious.

"No, of course you don't. I'm sorry, I _am_ the bad influence in you."

"It's the cross I have to bear." Sherlock said laughing.

"Let's go idiot, it's late!" John said, grabbing Sherlock by the elbow and dragging him towards the door.

"Why are you doing this, John?" Maybe Sherlock shouldn't have asked, maybe John would be mad at him again and yell at him and leave, but he really had to know.

John stopped and looked at Sherlock seriously. "Because I'm stupid."

Sherlock smiled and followed him towards the door.

 


	18. Goodnight, Sweetheart, Goodnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Who says I'm leaving?"

"Boring. Boring. Boring!" Sherlock almost yelled while John drove them out of school.

"What is it?" John asked confused.

"The way you drive! It's boring and I'm bored and I hate being bored."

John snorted. "Well, you can get out and get to your house by walking..."

Sherlock was moving in his seat uncontrollably, pretending he didn't hear John. "Damn it, I need a cigarette!"

"Sherlock, don't." John shook his head. "At least not in my car."

"I knew I shouldn't have quit it! I wouldn't be having this problem if I _kept_ smoking!"

"You quit it?" John asked, opening his eyes and looking at Sherlock for a moment.

Sherlock nodded. "You didn't like it."

"But I never asked you to quit it, I knew you loved it."

Sherlock shrugged. "Well, it's an excuse to not talk to my 'friends'"

"But I'm glad you did it. For your health."

Sherlock dismissed it. "I couldn't care less about _my_ health."

John rolled his eyes, he hated when Sherlock got sulky. But in that moment he was sulkier than usual.

Sherlock tapped uncontrollably on the window. "Can I turn on the radio?"

John nodded. "Please do. And shut up."

"Hey!"

"I can't focus when you're like this!"

"Like what? I'm like nothing, nothing, anything, I'm bored. Bored."

"Damn it Sherlock turn on the radio and stop it!"

Sherlock turned it on immediately and turned the volume up, as soon as he got to the rock n' roll station, he sighed and closed his eyes. John turned to look at him and smiled.

"That's better." John said fondly.

"Shut up."

"Make me." John said and opened his eyes wide when he realized what he just said, that was _not_ something he would do.

Sherlock realized of it too and opened his eyes, looking fixedly at John. He laughed.

Which made it harder for John to focus. He tried to keep his eyes on the road and stop flushing.

He felt Sherlock's hand on his cheek, a light touch, but enough to rise the temperature in the car. Then the greaser leaned in and gave John a quick kiss on the cheek. Then he murmured into his ear. "I _love_ that John Watson"

"Which John Watson?" John could barely mutter.

"The John Watson who surprises me all the time." Sherlock smiled into John's cheek.

John tried to steady himself and took a deep breath. "Two things. One: if you don't want two accidents in less than six months I'd recommend you to move and stop distracting me, and two: I'm still pissed at you, you idiot. So don't pretend everything is fine, because I think we agreed of something which made us no longer something, didn't we?"

Sherlock moved from John's face and went back to his seat, "I don't recall such agreement."

"Oh, I do. And I'm respecting it."

"I don't like _that_ John." Sherlock said rolling his eyes.

"The one who follows the rules?"

Sherlock nodded stubbornly. "Boring. Boring. Boring."

"Shut up!" John talked louder.

"Make me!" Sherlock replied even louder and smiled.

John kept his eyes fixed on the road. It took all his will not to turn and look at the greaser. He simply shook his head. "Next time you say that, I _swear_ I will punch you in the face so you shut up for real."

Sherlock chuckled. "That's not fair! I just kissed you to shut you up. You _can't_ punch me!"

"Try me." John said, not knowing wether he was upset or he was having fun.

\---------------------------

"Oh, John! Is so great to see you again!" Mrs Hudson greeted him effusively as soon as she opened the door. She hugged him tightly and it should have been awkward but it really didn't feel weird at all.

"It's great to see you too." John smiled.

"Well done, Sherlock!" She patted Sherlock on the shoulder after pulling him into an embrace.

Sherlock frowned. "Thank you?"

They entered and Mrs Hudson looked at them with a smile. "I'm so glad you worked things out!"

John widened his eyes and turned to look at Sherlock, who didn't dare to look him back. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Sherlock told me everything that happened, I didn't trust that girlfriend of his, I kept asking him about you and now you're back!" She clasped her hands together, smiling.

John kept his eyes fixed on Sherlock and then turned to look at Mrs Hudson "No, no. We're not a couple."

She smiled. "I know, people can be so intolerant, but don't worry, I don't mind..." She winked at them.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned towards the stairs, John was about to follow him but thought it was a little bit rude to Mrs Hudson, so he stood there, smiling. Plus, he was a bit curious.

"Seriously, Mrs Hudson, we are not together, I just came here to do the history project..."

"Sure, sure." She said, sounding unconvinced. "I believe you."

"John!" He heard a shout upstairs. "You might as well come, she does not understand reasons so don't argue with her!"

Mrs Hudson kept smiling widely. John returned the smile and said "Well, we have a project to do, so..."

She moved towards the kitchen. "Of course, you boys have fun, but not too much fun, _please."_ She said with a smile.

John didn't want to know what that meant, except he did. He went upstairs.

\--------------------

"So you told her about what had happened..." John told Sherlock as soon as he entered to the "laboratory", trying not to sound as amused as he was.

Sherlock was putting a sheet of paper in the typewriter and without looking up he muttered. "Hmm?"

"You told her we fought..."

"I trust her." Sherlock said without lifting his eyes off the paper.

"You brought her here..."

"Yes." Sherlock said, his eyes fixed on the paper, trying to sound nonchalant.

"She didn't like her."

"You didn't either."

"Because I _knew_."

"She _knew_ too. She is brilliant. There, the paper is ready."

"I didn't know you had been so...affected by it." Apparently they were not done talking about it yet. This conversation was making Sherlock uncomfortable.

"Affected by what?"

"Our...fight."

Sherlock looked up to John, confused, while a small smile drew on the boy's face.

"Sentiment." John said playfully.

Sherlock shook his head. "No no no. That's not true."

"It is." John narrowed his eyes and lifted his eyebrows.

"It isn't." Sherlock finally lifted his head and his eyes met John's.

John leaned closer, not taking his eyes off Sherlock's and didn't say another word. He placed a kiss in Sherlock's forehead and stood there for a moment, his eyes closed. "I think that's adorable."

Sherlock had closed his eyes too. "No it isn't, it's stupid." He said shaking his head.

"You don't have to suppress your feelings, you know that, don't you?"

"Sentimentality has never done me well, John. I prefer avoiding it."

John kept his position in there. "Sometimes you can't simply escape from feelings."

"You are the proof of that aren't you?"

"I'm afraid I am." John smiled, moving away from Sherlock, because _why did I let this happen? Great. I'm blushing now. Well done, Watson._

He cleared his throat and frowned, not sure yet if he wanted to say this or not. "We're not a couple. I told her that."

Sherlock smiled. He wasn't looking at John anymore, but at the typewriter. "She doesn't believe you, and to be completely honest with you-" he turned to face John "I don't either."

"Well, it's true." John nodded up and down, up and down, trying to convince himself, and it wasn't working, and Sherlock knew that, of course. Sherlock always knew everything. Bastard.

"Look at that! Not even _you_ are convinced of that! Adorable!" Sherlock threw his hands in the air.

John blushed a little but tried to defend himself. He spoke lowly, very very low. "How can we be a couple if you already are in one?" He certainly didn't want it to sound hurt, because John was convinced Sherlock didn't love Irene at all, but still that was the tone it sounded.

Sherlock pretended he didn't hear John, turned his back against the boy and started typing. "We should start fast, it's getting late." He said seriously, changing the topic completely.

John nodded. He didn't want to have that conversation either. "Sure. I'll call mom, tell her I'm here before she freaks out."

"Please don't tell her where I live, if she broke into a crime scene, she is brave enough to break into any place." Sherlock said trying to light the mood.

John chuckled. "I won't say a word." He winked at Sherlock and went downstairs towards the phone.

\------------------------------

His mom, surprisingly enough, trusted Sherlock. He had no idea how, but that day the greaser and his mother met, Sherlock had been able to convince her he was a good guy despite his clothes and his attitude. She didn't have a single problem with John going to his house, and she was glad he was John's friend. John knew that his mother worried a lot about him being lonely, but truth was he didn't feel lonely at all. He didn't need people like the rest of the world seemed to need people, he didn't care not having someone to talk to, he could find answers in his books. That was until he met Sherlock.

He stood in front of the phone thinking about it, about how much he had changed, about how much Sherlock had changed, and about how much things were changing. He smiled. A loud sound brought him back to reality. Chuck Berry. He went back upstairs, Sherlock was sitting on the floor, mimicking the guitar solo from the beginning of the song. He had his back turned against John, so he couldn't see his face. John chuckled and cleared his throat. Sherlock stopped moving immediately and turned to face John, and he was actually _blushing_. John smiled and Sherlock looked down. "You weren't supposed to see that."

"Well, next time you plan on dancing by yourself don't invite me to your house, then." John said, trying to sound serious, but being unable to hide his mockery tone.

Sherlock laughed. "I definitely won't"

John sat next to him as Sherlock went back to his chair. His face now was a bit more serious, and he started typing, trying to hide the awkwardness he was feeling. John shoved him on the shoulder. "Don't be silly, Sherlock. You can be as weird as you want with me." He said with a smile.

"It's just... I'm not like that." Sherlock cleared his throat. "Well, at least not in front of people. But with you... It feels... _Normal."_ Sherlock looked incredibly confused.

John frowned. "I know, I feel that way too. I'm not afraid to be myself with you."

Sherlock started typing while he talked to John and sometimes stopped to sing a song and John just looked and smiled. They had a lot of fun actually, and when they were halfway there, Mrs Hudson called them for dinner.

They went downstairs, Sherlock leading and John behind him, when Sherlock stopped immediately and John crashed with him. "Hey!" He said, fixing his glasses, but Sherlock wasn't answering. John couldn't see what was stopping him, the greaser blocked his view.

"No. No way." Sherlock shook his head.

"Good evening to you too, Sherlock." John recognized the voice immediately and widened his eyes. "I see you brought your little... _friend."_

John pushed Sherlock aside, making way for him in the same stair the greaser was sitting in. "Hello, Mycroft." He said with a nod.

Mycroft looked at John up and down before answering with a frown. "Evening, John."

Sherlock interrupted him. "Now that we're done with the saluting, we have things to do, goodbye." He turned to go back to his room.

"Don't." Mycroft said firmly. "We're having dinner."

Sherlock turned again to face his brother. "If by 'we' you mean you and Mrs Hudson, I wish you the best. Goodbye."

"Sherlock..." John said softly.

"Don't worry John, he'll come to sense soon." Mycroft said, looking at Sherlock's back.

"Oh really? What are you going to do about it?" Sherlock asked, turning back again defiantly.

"I'm sure this is a conversation you don't want to have, dear brother."

"Oh no, go ahead. I want to have it." Sherlock said, coming closer to Mycroft. John looked at them, not knowing what to do.

Mycroft spoke very, very lowly. "Are you sure about that?"

"Yes." Sherlock said with a nod. "What if I don't want to have dinner? _How_ are you going to force me this time?" It took all of John's effort to understand what Sherlock was saying, because it came almost like a whisper, only meant for his brother to hear it.

"I'll call mummy and daddy, Sherlock." Mycroft said, lifting his eyebrow.

Sherlock's posture went rigid. John couldn't tell which face the greaser was making, but this was surely making him uncomfortable. "I haven't done anything."

Mycroft started moving his umbrella. "I'm sure they'd be glad to hear you brought another one of your... _Friends?_ That's how you call them isn't it? I'm sure you remember how they reacted last time..."

Sherlock replied with an even lower voice tone, which made impossible for John to understand it. Meanwhile, John was trying to understand what Mycroft had meant with _how they reacted last time._ Which last time? How did they react? _Friends?_

Mycroft and Sherlock were looking at each other quietly. Their eyes fixed on each other defiantly. John could feel the tension, and he wanted to run away, but he couldn't. Finally, he decided he had to fix this. He cleared his throat and both Mycroft and Sherlock turned to look at him questioningly, as if they had forgotten he was there. "I'm starving, so I'd appreciate the dinner, thank you." He said moving towards the dining room, trying to look as normal as he could.

Sherlock frowned and turned to look at Mycroft, who was smirking. "Congratulations, Sherlock. You found a _smart_ one this time."

Sherlock threw him a killing gaze before taking a deep breath and following John. Mycroft kept his small smile and followed his little brother.

They had dinner in silence, except for some occasions in which Mycroft turned his gaze towards John and asked him some questions curiously. He asked him what he wanted to do after he graduated, where he was going to study, how did he go in school... John didn't seem bothered at all, but Sherlock was, specially because he knew his brother already knew the answer to all of those things he was asking. Sherlock was pretty sure that since the first time he saw them together he had gathered all the information about John Watson he could find. He hated that.

"This dinner was lovely..." Sherlock said after _not_ eating a single bite claiming it might 'slow him down'- "but John and I have a history project to work on. Come, John?"

John was looking fixedly at Mycroft without realizing, while Mycroft looked at Sherlock with a frown. John reacted when he heard Sherlock's voice and stood up. "Yeah, sure." He nodded at Mycroft. "Thanks for dinner." Then he went towards Mrs Hudson and grinned. "It was delicious."

"I'm glad you liked it dear, you're welcome."

Sherlock was about to get out of the dining room when Mycroft cleared his throat. He stopped and turned back rolling his eyes. "Thanks for dinner, Mrs Hudson." He said with a small smile. Then he turned to look at Mycroft. "Happy?"

"That's better." Mycroft said with a nod.

Mrs Hudson threw her hand dismissively. "Don't be silly dear, no need to thank me, you know I do it with all my love... I just wish you would have taken at least a bite."

"Sorry, but I'm not hungry and we have a lot of work to do. Plus, Mycroft will have more to eat, so everybody wins."

Mycroft raised his eyebrow while John tried not to laugh.

Mrs Hudson shrugged with a small smile. Mycroft stood up from his chair. Sherlock turned and barely said "Good night, Mycroft. Please don't disturb us."

Mycroft nodded and John and Sherlock went upstairs into the laboratory.

As soon as they were in the room again, Sherlock turned on the record player and rock n' roll started playing louder than before. John turned to look at Sherlock with a frown. The greaser rolled his eyes. "Mycroft _hates_ this music. This has nothing to do with you."

John nodded with a small smile. "Doesn't it bother Mrs Hudson?"

Sherlock moved his hand in the air. "No, she is used to that."

"How long has she been with you?"

"Five years."

"She seems to really love you." John said amused.

"She is the only one who stands me." Sherlock said simply, as if that sentence didn't say a lot about him.

John smiled fondly. "I stand you."

"You'll leave someday. Hopefully she won't."

"Who says I'm leaving?" John said surprised.

"You will leave, John. It won't work out, you'll meet someone else, or maybe I will. This will never, _ever_ last." Sherlock said looking down and regretting immediately each one of his words. John didn't want to admit it, but the greaser _did_ have a point. They had never worked together, not properly. There would come a day when they would have to be apart for real, and then Sherlock would become just a memory for him. It was the way things had to be. It was unavoidable.

Sherlock seemed to catch John's train of thought because he silently turned his back at him and started typing, trying to leave the topic behind. John felt relieved the greaser wasn't waiting for an answer and sat right next to him.

They didn't talk for a long while.

\---------------------------

"Alright, so we just have to conclude-" Sherlock said taking the sheet of paper from the typewriter and placing another one "-and we're done."

John didn't reply.

"John!" Sherlock said looking up from the typewriter and realizing John was no longer next to him. He called louder. "John!"

He turned his chair and found John laying on the couch, deep asleep. Sherlock smiled at the sight and went to his bedroom to take a blanket and place it over John. He looked at the clock, it was 11:00 p.m. Damn it. When did time pass so fast? John couldn't drive home, not this late.

He went downstairs and opened John's backpack. He took the chemistry notebook out and looked at John's contact info. His phone number was there. He dialed the number and took a deep breath, if Mr Watson picked up, he was screwed.

"Hello?" He heard through the phone. A woman's voice. Harry. Damn it. He was hoping his mom would pick up.

"Harry?"

"Who is this?" Her voice sounded sharp.

"Sherlock."

He heard a small gasp through the phone. Then she whispered into the phone. "Holmes! Where is John? Damn it it's 11:00 p.m! Mom is so worried! But she didn't have your phone number! She even asked me to go to your house! If something happened to my little brother I swear I'm going to kick your ass!"

"John's fine! Don't worry!"

She sighed in relief. "Where the hell is he?"

"He's here, he fell asleep, and it's too late for him to drive home..."

"No, no, no. He's not staying with you. No." She said firmly.

"Don't be silly, I won't do anything. He is exhausted and needs to get some rest."

Harry sighed. "Fine. I'll tell mom. And he _has_ to go to school tomorrow or she'll freak out. And you better not be lying, Holmes. If something is wrong with John..."

"Yes, yes, you'll kick my ass. Goodbye." Sherlock hung up the phone.

\----------------------

Sherlock went upstairs and saw John, still sleeping deeply. He smiled to himself. He hated to, but he had to wake him up and take him to the guests room, so he could sleep in a proper bed. He leaned in front of him and whispered softly in his ear. "John..."

John barely moved. He tried again, caressing John's hair with his fingers. "John..."

John moved a bit more this time and mumbled something Sherlock couldn't understand. Sherlock giggled. "John, come on, I'll take you to a bed."

John opened his eyes immediately, surprised. "No. No, I have to go home." He said shaking his head and half-slept.

"No. You're staying. I already called to your house."

John widened his eyes. "You did _what?_ "

Sherlock smiled. "All the trouble you put me into..." He said sarcastically.

John nudged him. He was still wrapped in the blanket and his eyes were closing again.

Sherlock took his hand. "Come on, you have to sleep in a proper bed."

John leaned heavily against the pillow and snuggled. "No, I'm not going anywhere." He barely muttered.

"Come on, love." Sherlock realized of what he had said too late and widened his eyes and closed his mouth.

John opened one eye and looked at Sherlock. He smiled. "How did you just called me?"

"Nothing." Sherlock said looking elsewhere.

John smiled wider and moved a little towards the edge of the couch, Sherlock thought he was about to stand up, but then John stood there. He took his glasses off and tossed them to the ground. He closed his eyes again and muttered. "...Come." He said patting the side of the couch that was empty.

Sherlock looked at him and stood silent. "Huh?"

"Sleep in here. You need some sleep." John's voice sounded rough and he was still half-slept. Yes, certainly almost unconscious, Sherlock thought.

"No... We have to finish the work..." Sherlock said reluctantly, because he _didn't_ want to say no.

"The work is for Thursday... You are exhausted..." John said, eyes still closed, still mumbling.

"John, I have my bedroom." Sherlock said, holding John's hand.

"I want you to sleep here with me." John said firmly squeezing Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock couldn't resist. He moved over and laid on the couch, next to John, placing his arm over John's waist. John giggled into the pillow. "Thank you." John said placing his hand over Sherlock's.

Sherlock leaned closer, his lips ghosted over John's neck. "Thank _you."_ As soon as John fell asleep, Sherlock would finish the paperwork.

John was a bit more awake now. "Sherlock?" He said, turning his head towards Sherlock.

"Yes?" Sherlock said, breathing into John's neck.

"What did your brother mean with 'the last time'?" The question popped suddenly into John's mind and John needed to _know,_ he hadn't been able to take the topic off his head all night.

"Shhh..." Sherlock murmured. "Go to sleep, John."

John fell asleep almost immediately. Sherlock didn't want to, but he fell asleep as well, drowning in a thousand memories his mind often tried to forget, while John's smell penetrated his senses.


	19. Interlude: Dreaming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is an interlude now 'cause this is getting rather long! (which I love it). But anyway, this chapter is here to give you a context in order to understand better the story and what will happen from then on. No need to read it if you don't feel like it, but it's very very recommended.
> 
> Alright, a small announcement before you continue with the story: I've been very busy with uni so next week there won't be an update, but don't worry! I'll be back in two weeks! And a small reminder you can find me on [my tumblr](http://johnandsherlocks.tumblr.com) in case you feel like talking! ;)
> 
> p.s. A little warning: mentions of past drug abuse and sexual content (kind of)

_**1952** _

_"Sherlock! You need to make some friends!" His mom said firmly._

_"Friends are boring!" Sherlock said while he took some flowers from the garden. "Talking to people is boring! People are boring!"_

_"Dr. Divers said so, Sherlock. And we are doing as he says. It's for your own sake, sweetheart!"_

_"What gives that man who is addicted to work, going through a divorce and not talking to his brother, the right to say what I should or shouldn't do?"_

_"This is exactly what I'm talking about! This isn't normal, Sherlock! You should be playing football and socializing, not trying to guess people's lives as if you were a fortune-teller! You're thirteen years old! You're just a child!"_

_"Guessing? Guessing? I don't guess, I deduce!" Sherlock said clearly offended._

_"Sure, right, deduce." His mother said dubiously._

_Sherlock narrowed his eyes and threw the flowers to the ground. "You don't believe me."_

_"Good deduction."_

_He turned his back_ to _her, going back into the house. "So what are you going to do now? You're going to get me into a clinic?"_

_"Dear, that is what I'm trying to avoid. I want you to be healthy." His mother said following him._

_Sherlock threw his hands in the air, clearly annoyed. "I am perfectly healthy!"_

_"You don't eat, Sherlock!"_

_"Eating slows me down!" He said_ calmly, _as if it was the most obvious thing in the world._

_"You are growing up, you need to eat!"_

_He turned to face her. "Eating is BORING!"_

_"Don't use that tone with me, young boy!" She crossed her arms and stood straight, face motionless._

_"So what is your solution? What did mister work-a-holic tell you to do?"_

_His mother looked down, not wanting to answer to Sherlock. "A priory school."_

_Sherlock widened his eyes. "No." He turned to climb the stairs._

_"Sherlock..." His mother said calmly._

_"No." He kept on climbing._

_"Darling..."_

_"NO!"_

_He went downstairs trying to wipe off the tears that were forming in his eyes._

_\-----------------------------_

_**1953** _

_He had spent his whole childhood traveling around the world. How was he expected to know to create bonds with people if the only people he talked to were his parents? Now he was in a_ gray _classroom filled with stupid little boys who only cared about banal things such as sports and girls. How boring, how_ very, very _boring._

_Nobody talked to him, he didn't do good at school and Divers determined he was going through a depression. Depression. As if he felt such things._

Mrs _. Hudson was the one who took him to his appointments, who encouraged him to eat and to take his medicine, why did he need a medicine? Medicine was_ a euphemism _for_ sedative _. He spent half of that year unaware of life._

_Until he was so down, so quiet and so sleepy Divers got scared and suspended them, just like that. And Sherlock needed them, he needed the sedatives to survive that priory school. He needed the sedatives to survive life in general._

_He lived in a constant abstention syndrome, which increased with his constant feeling of loneliness. But no, he wasn't lonely, he didn't need friends. He didn't need anybody. He never did._

_Victor Trevor was the new kid at school next year. He caught Sherlock's eye immediately. When he introduced himself to the class he said he thought this was 'boring' and 'stupid' and that his father sailed around the world in his ship and he barely saw him._ Finally _he had something in common with someone his age._

_Sherlock would regret the day he saluted him some years later._

_\-----------------------_

_"Hi, I'm Sherlock." He said after thinking about it throughout the whole lunch break, coming close to Victor, who was sitting in the yard, looking at his (uneaten) lunch._

_Victor didn't look up. He merely_ hmmed _._

_Sherlock smiled. "I'm bored too. I barely see my parents too."_

_Victor finally looked at Sherlock. "I never said that."_

_Sherlock looked at him, questioningly. "Yes, you did."_

_"No. I said I never saw my father. You just implied I didn't see my mother either."_

_Sherlock cleared his throat. "Well she's dead, isn't she?"_

_He seriously thought Victor was about to punch him, he even closed his eyes, expecting the impact, but it didn't come. He opened them and saw the boy in front of him, tilting his head to the side, frowning. "How can you possibly know that?" He didn't sound angry, he sounded... Surprised._

_"I deduce people." Sherlock shrugged._

_Victor smiled. "Let me guess... You were brought here to be forced to make friends."_

_Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Obviously."_

_Victor grinned. "Sherlock Holmes, you are going to be very helpful."_

_Sherlock didn't know what that meant, but it must have meant something._

_\-----------------------------_

_It did. Suddenly Sherlock found himself being introduced as Victor's friend in the boy's house, he even got to spend the holidays at the Trevor's manor. Victor's family seemed surprised and beyond excited that he finally found a friend, and surprisingly enough, Sherlock enjoyed his company and apparently Victor did too. Their friendship grew stronger during the course of the year. He met his father while he was on a short holiday and they even shared stories about traveling and languages and people. There, between salutes and late night talks Sherlock found out two things:_

_One, Victor had a therapist too. He lost the ability to speak from the shock of his mother's death and he recovered it by going to therapy. He took sedatives too, he was also trying to leave them, he also found it difficult, he also took them once in a while._

_Two, he had...feelings for him. How stupid did that sound? But after eliminating the impossible, that must have been the truth: he was stupidly in love with Victor. That didn't make sense. He knew that wasn't the way it was supposed to be. He was supposed to like girls, not boys. He was supposed to get married, have a family, preserve the family's name... How could he like boys? Was there something wrong with him?_

_Maybe he just really liked Victor as a friend. Yes, definitely. He wasn't in love, no. He just admired his first friend ever. It's not like he knew what it was like to have a friend anyway, so probably he just mixed the feelings._

_\----------------------------_

_Or maybe not. Sherlock found himself questioning his feelings over and over and over again. But why was he giving so much thought to it? Why couldn't he just accept the fact he had a friend and be happy about it?_

_Maybe because he wanted it to be something else._

_He confirmed it one night, one of the last days at Trevor's manor. Summer was almost over and soon enough, Sherlock would have to go back to his house. Victor stared at him all the time. When they were in front of the fireplace, reading books sitting on the rugs, the boy didn't take his eyes off Sherlock. Sherlock was terrified. Of course he knew, of course Victor freaking Trevor knew._

_Sherlock stood up after a while, closing his book and saying good night when a hand wrapped around his wrist stopped him. Victor stood up too, and placed a kiss into Sherlock's mouth. A chaste, fast, even nervous kiss. In that moment Sherlock didn't think, he didn't stop to consider it, he just let go._

_He kissed him back and the kiss turned needier and needier. God, it felt good._

_He finally said goodbye and went to his room._

_\---------------------------_

_Apparently they were a couple. He never saw that coming. But he was good with it. People weren't supposed to know, but Mycroft knew, he knew was soon as he opened the door to let his little brother in after summer vacations. He looked at him up and down, questioningly and frowned in disbelief. Sherlock just shrugged and went upstairs. Both of them knew the other one knew, that was just the way the Holmes brothers communicated. Mycroft seemed fine with it. At least he never mentioned the topic._

_But nobody else could know, because they would be rejected. So they had to keep it a secret. It was nice saving secrets. It was their little secret._

_\---------------------------_

_Victor had changed. After some time he introduced to Sherlock his new... Friends. And they didn't look like nice boys at all. Victor was different, he started wearing leather jackets, listening to some weird music that old people seemed to hate and behaving weirdly. But he was still his Victor. His, his, his._

_One particular day, while Sherlock was in Victor’s house, tumbled on the ground and staring to the ceiling, mumbling incessantly “I’m bored, I’m bored…”, Victor passed his palm down his face, rubbing his eyes, clearly annoyed by Sherlock. He turned to look at him._

_“You could do the homework, you know.”_

_“Homework is boring.”_

_“Then what do you want, Sherlock? For God’s sake make up your mind.”_

_“I want to stop being bored.”_

_Victor stood up, taking a deep breath and went into his bathroom. He came out with a small box in his hands, and looked at Sherlock, smiling. “What’s that?”Sherlock inquired._

_“Have you taken your medicine?”Victor said, lifting an eyebrow._

_“Don’t be silly, Victor. You know I’m trying to quit it.”Sherlock replied seriously._

_“Of course you are. But it’s not easy, is it?”_

_“Why are you even asking me that? You know it isn’t.”_

_“My therapist gave me a new medicine…”_

_“Sedative, Victor. Those are sedatives.”_

_“Well, yes and no. It’s stronger. It’s good. He said it would help me quit the other pills and he was right. I don’t need them anymore. This is better, this is so much better.”_

_He showed the box to Sherlock, it was white with a big title which read ‘Sandoz Laboratories’. Sherlock looked at it and then looked up at Victor, frowning._

_“It’s my new therapy. LSD, they call it.”_

_They who? Sherlock asked to himself. Oh sure, right. His…friends._

_“And?”_

_“And what?”_

_“What’s the difference with the other ones?”_

_“Oh…everything is different about these ones. They make me…happy. For real.”_

_“For real?”_

_“Yes. And they can make you happy too.”_

_“Doubtful.”_

_“Give it a try.”Victor said while tossing the box to Sherlock._

_“I don’t know, Victor.”_

_“They will help you quit. They will make you happy. What’s so terrible about them?”_

_Sherlock took one of the pills out of the box, put it under his tongue._

_And he saw stars._

_\-------------------_

_**1954** _

__

_"Just leave me the fuck alone, just get out of here." He repeated Victor's words in his mouth, between sobs. He was sitting in the corner of his bedroom, his knees on his chest. He felt so vulnerable, but he didn't care anymore, nothing mattered anymore, not if Victor was not with him. He left it very clear. Things were over. He drugged him and threw him out of his house._

_He didn't know how he arrived home. He didn't care._

_His pupils were dilated, his hands were shaking. It was as if his brain was somewhere else, he barely mumbled the same words over and over, his mouth was dry, but his face was wet. Tears, tears, tears... Victor. No. Victor. Don't leave me!_

_"You are a fucking mess Sherlock! Seriously, I thought you could handle a bit more than that."_

_"Shut up and kiss me."_

_"We already fucked twice! What else do you want?"_

_"I want you to tell me everything will be fine. I want you to tell me we will always be together. Always."_

_"There's no such thing as 'always', don't be stupid."_

_"Promise."_

_"I can't promise things that aren't true."_

_"I love you. That, I believe is true."_

_"Barely true."_

_"Barely true?"_

_"Another pill, Sherlock?"_

_"Please."_

_"I never asked you to love me, I think I left it very clear. What this was, you knew from the beginning."_

_"You said was...?"_

_"I think you should leave."_

_"No."_

_"Sherlock!"_

_"NO! I know what that means! You're finishing it!"_

_"There's no it! There's just you building illusions I'll never fulfill because I don't love you! I rather love fucking with you, sure. But love you? Please..."_

_"I thought you..."_

_"I thought you were smart."_

_"Please don't leave me."_

_"Goodbye, Sherlock."_

_"No, don't. Please."_

_"Another pill?"_

_"Please."_

_He put the other pill in his mouth. The third one since he had arrived home._

_The bedroom was dark. He fell asleep mumbling "don't leave me..." Over and over and over again._

_\-----------------------_

_He knew he wouldn't last long without Victor, as soon as he saw him again, at the bar, he begged and begged and begged. Reluctantly, Victor nodded and shoved him towards the wall, kissing him roughly. They had sex in the bathroom._

_Sherlock repeated "mine, mine, all mine." As much as he could, as to reassure himself Victor was his, he had always been his. Victor stuck his hand in his pocket, took out two yellow pills and pushed them inside Sherlock's mouth to shut him up. Sherlock swallowed and smiled._

_It was his fourth pill that night._

_\----------------------------_

_**1955** _

_"FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!" Sherlock left the party, wiping the tears off his eyes, Victor running behind him, pulling his zipper up, adjusting his belt._

_"I didn't know we were exclusive and I didn't know you would come." Victor said calmly after following Sherlock for a long time._

_"How long?" Sherlock stopped suddenly and turned, closing his eyes, his voice trembling._

_"How long have I been fucking her or how long have I been fucking someone else but you?"_

_Sherlock just stared at him, shaking his head._

_"I met her today, relax. As for the others..."_

_"SHUT UP!"_

_"Sherlock, I don't know what's the big deal, it's just sex after all."_

_"That's all that matters to you, isn't it? You don't give a shit about me, you have never given a shit about me!"_

_"I warned you, Sherlock. I've told you a thousand times, yet you're still here. And you'll forgive me, and you'll come back, because that's what you do. That's what we are."_

_He took a pill out of his pocket and put it in his mouth. Then he gestured at Sherlock. "Want one?"_

_Sherlock shook his head, still crying, still trying to avoid it._

_"Oh come on Sherlock!" Victor said, coming closer and holding Sherlock's upper arms. "You know this it how it'll always be, but you wouldn't have it any other way. You love this, you love me."_

_And then he leaned and kissed Sherlock and Sherlock wanted to part but he simply couldn't._

_"I... Am tired of this, Victor."_

_"You can't live without me, Sherlock."_

_That was true. Hell, when did Sherlock's life become such a mess?_

_He shook his head. Victor smiled widely. "I thought so... Here, take one."_

_He pulled it into Sherlock's mouth. And as he swallowed it, Victor kissed him again. Then he held him in his arms and Sherlock just started crying in his chest. "Good... I knew you would choose me. I'm glad you understand. You need me. You know that. You'd die without me."_

_Sherlock nodded, holding tightly into Victor's jacket._

_\-------------------------_

_He knew how much Mycroft hated him bringing people home. He didn’t bring much people, but Victor’s friends used to spend a long time in there, especially because it was mostly empty (only Mrs Hudson was around) and they could have as many pills and as many liqueur as they wanted._

_He had been in this relationship for two years, two years in which he felt…happy. He wore leather jackets, Victor told him he looked hot with them on, he listened to rock n’roll music, he started loving it. He also started smoking, it was also a therapy, but not nearly as powerful as pills. God, he loved them._

_He didn’t talk to his brother for two reasons: 1. because he barely saw him. Mycroft was usually too busy finishing his prosper career and knocking on the palace’s door waiting to get a job there, and 2. Because he knew Mycroft would know. Of course he would know, and he wanted to avoid that at any cost. He wasn’t afraid he would be disappointed at him. What he wanted to avoid was the talk, his parents, a new school and being apart from Victor. He couldn’t be apart from Victor. No. That was not going to happen. His brother could never know._

_His life had certainly changed once he started taking this medicine. He didn’t feel happy, but he forgot about unhappiness and that was good enough. He forgot about his parents, he forgot about school, it was just him, his music, his Victor and himself. His brain even moved faster. He loved it. He really did._

_Their friends had been long gone. Mrs Hudson was downstairs, making a supper. Sherlock should have remembered.  How the hell could he have not remembered? Stupid._

_“Honey, we’re here.”Mummy and daddy opened the door effusively, Mycroft was behind them._

_Sherlock was on bed with Victor. The box of pills was empty. He was brought back to reality._

_He really should have remembered it was Mycroft’s birthday before bringing Victor home._

_\-----------------------------_

_Victor was gone. He was on the living room. His parents in front of him, arms crossed, just staring. No. They were talking. Were they? Sherlock couldn’t hear anything. He was lost in thoughts. They weren’t his thoughts. They were someone else’s. Victor’s? He could swear he saw Mycroft smiling._

_“Sherlock, are you even listening to me?”_

_That wasn’t Victor’s voice. It was his father’s. He should reply. Let them know he was fine. He opened his mouth. No sound came out. He laughed. He couldn’t help but laugh._

_“We should take him to the hospital.”Sure because that was always the best fucking solution, wasn’t it?_

_“No!”Oh look he could talk!_

_His father grabbed him by the arm. “We ARE.”_

_“NO!”Sherlock said loosening from the hold. His thoughts were gathering back together._

_“Sherlock!”His mother said sharply._

_“Hasn’t it ever occurred you that I’m not the one who needs therapy? Hasn’t it occurred you that maybe I’m not depressed or going through a break down? Hasn’t it occurred you that maybe I am just unhappy? Hasn’t it occurred you that it is your fault? Hasn’t it occurred you that you just threw out of the door the only person capable of giving me something? Of making me feel happy?”_

_“Sherlock! You were having sex with another boy in our house while being drugged and you don’t need therapy?”His mother said rising her voice._

_“I’m just fine.”Sherlock shrugged._

_“No you’re not.”Mycroft stood up from the couch and walked towards his little brother. His parents turned to look at him, as if they had forgotten he had been there watching the whole scene in the first place._

_“This doesn’t concern you.”Sherlock said turning his back._

_“Of course it concerns me! You are my brother.”_

_“Oh now I’m your brother. Where have you been then, the rest of my life?”_

_“Sherlock you have to stop this!”Mycroft said exasperated._

_“Or what?”_

_Mycroft just looked at him defiantly._

_“How are you going to force me?”_

_“Stop it both of you now!”Their mother stood up between them. “Mycroft go to your bedroom NOW!”_

_“I am so disappointed at you, little brother.”Mycroft said shaking his head._

_“Oh no. I’ve disappointed you. What will I do with my life?”Sherlock said sarcastically._

_“OUT!”Mr Holmes yelled before Mycroft could reply._

_“Sherlock, look at me.”_

_With a dizzy sensation in his head, Sherlock looked at his mom._

_“You’re not seeing that boy again.”_

_Sherlock felt a weird sensation in his face. Suddenly, his mother’s voice was far, far away. He brought his hand up and touched his cheek. It was wet. He wasn’t crying was he? Maybe he was. No. He didn’t feel such things. Another tear rolled down. He was crying._

_“…You are coming back with us, you’ll travel with us.”_

_He heard her voice from afar. “No…”He mumbled. He felt weak now._

_“It wasn’t a question, it was an order, Sherlock.”_

_“I don’t want to leave, mum.”Sherlock’s voice sounded so needy._

_“You did this to yourself. We gave you freedom and you threw it to the garbage. You ruined yourself!”_

_“I. AM. FINE!”_

_“Look at yourself, Sherlock!”His mother said desperately, tears on her face._

_Sherlock stood silent. Crying._

_“Do you really feel fine, love?”His mother said touching his cheek._

_He closed his eyes and shook his head, crying more and more._

_“I thought so.”_

_“I don’t want to see the therapist.”He said as firmly as he could._

_“You won’t. But you’ll come with us. Understood?”_

_Sherlock nodded. Did he have any other choice?_

_\----------------------_

_Paris, 1955._

_Hello, darling. How is everything going over there? I imagine you must be quite busy, but I hope we can hear from you as fast as you can. About your previous letter, we apologize for not replying before, Sherlock had a break-down. Not much of a break-down since he has never felt good, but last week was particularly difficult. We were woken up by his screams, he kept yelling that boy's name, begging him not to leave him and as soon as we woke him up, he left the room sobbing and we didn't see him for three days._

_We didn't have time to look for him, and in the end he came by himself, you didn't have to be a genius to know what he had been up to those three days. That's why we decided to get him into a clinic. It was harder than I thought, but he's handling it better, apparently. He's not talking to us but he never really has. The doctor told us he likes playing music aloud and he looks happy, even though the music is hideous. He doesn't socialize but he hasn't attempted to escape or find pills so that's a good sign._

_We won't do anything on Christmas Eve. We had to delay the trip to Rome until Sherlock feels better, so you can keep writing to this address._

_Merry Christmas, my dear Mycroft._

_Love,_

_Mummy._

_\---------------------_

_**1956** _

_"Hello Sherlock."_

_It had taken him a whole year of traveling around the world, months of rehab and re-lapse and more and more pills to get over that voice. Yet he discovered he wasn't. That lovely, seductive voice. Beautiful, beautiful voice._

_Sherlock turned. The sight of Victor made it harder. He felt something inside of him breaking, some old wound he thought was healed. Shit he needed a pill right now._

_He had left one addiction, leaving two would have been too much._

_After begging his parents for a long time, his father reluctantly accepted leaving Sherlock in the town. That with the condition he would be constantly monitored in the police station. Police. As if he was some kind of criminal. He started helping them. At first they didn't believe his assumptions, but when they confirmed it, Sherlock Holmes became the best acquisition of the local police._

_He liked helping them. They seemed lost without his help anyway._

_He had stopped consuming pills a month ago. He had grown resistant to them, so every time it took him more and more to feel something. He desperately needed to feel something. Working with the police, solving murders and training his mind made him feel something._

_Victor Trevor made him feel everything._

_He had been asked by Dimmock to go undercover to a party and  check the distribution of hallucinogens, see which products were traded, who sold them and who bought them. Sherlock knew it would be a challenge, and he wanted to do it right, he wanted to overcome his need for pills._

_He should have known Victor would be there. Of course Victor would be there._

_"Victor." He nodded. He didn't know how but he managed to keep his face expressionless._

_"I hadn't seen you lately."_

_"I was away."_

_"I missed you."_

_"Good."_

_"You've been to rehab, haven't you?" Victor laughed._

_"Piss off."_

_"Oh, so that's how you want to play the game?"_

_"I'm not playing anything. I'm not playing this game. Not with you, not anymore."_

_"I bet you missed me too."_

_"Doubtful."_

_"Are you sure?"_

_"Of course I'm sure."_

_"Then I bet you missed these." He showed Sherlock the box, the same box he had shown him three years ago. Sherlock licked his lips instinctively. Damn it, he missed them, he missed Victor too. He should probably leave. This was a bad idea._

_The first pill did nothing. The second either. It took him five more to start feeling the effects weakly. He just wanted to forget Victor. But how the hell was that possible when he had Victor's tongue down his throat? Wait. When did that happen? How did he let this happen?_

_"You have no idea of how much I missed this body, Sherlock." Victor said panting between kisses, taking Sherlock's jacket off._

_Sherlock blinked back to reality momentarily, but he flew again as soon as he felt Victor's hands on his body. Victor, Victor, Victor._

_Victor, the one who made him an addict._

_Victor, the one who broke his heart._

_Victor, the one who walked away._

_Sherlock put a hand on Victor's chest and pulled him away. "No!"_

_Victor looked at him back with bloodshot eyes. "Hush hush, little Sherlock." Then he leaned again and started kissing Sherlock's neck._

_It took all of Sherlock's will to part. "Stop it!"_

_"What the hell do you think you're doing?"_

_"I am NOT playing this game!" Sherlock said, standing up straight._

_"Oh Sherlock, stop pretending. You love me."_

_"I loved you."_

_"You still do."_

_"You walked away, you left me alone. I was all by myself. While I was in pain, while I was in rehab, while I tried to handle a broken heart you disappeared. Just like that." Sherlock sounded so hurt, but he didn't want to show his weakness._

_"Are you going to keep crying about it for the rest of your life? What did you expect me to do?"_

_"Well, I'm not falling again."_

_"You can't run away, Sherlock. You just simply can't. You have never been able to do it."_

_"Watch me."_

_He took one last pill and walked away, almost running._

_"You'll regret it, Sherlock. You'll come back, you always come back and you know it my dear!" He heard Victor yelling while he turned on his car and rushed away._

_\---------------------_

_Next thing he felt were arms taking him out of the car. His car. His rocket. They had to cut down the driver's door in order to take him out. He felt dizzy, but a good kind of dizzy, the kind of dizzy the pills made him feel. Nine pills, to be exact._

_He could feel the drops of blood running down his face._

_Pulse: slowing. Breathing: uneven. He couldn't keep like this, if he did he would be unconscious soon and if he was unconscious he would probably die. Concentrate on breathing. No. Not on Victor. On breathing. In and out. In and out._

_His eyes were closing as he saw the lights, heard the ambulance and the people around chattering, chattering, chattering. Make it stop! Make it all stop!_

_He was being connected to the oxygen, that wasn't good, that was never good... Don't close your eyes. Don't._

_The ambulance doors opened._

_With the last glimpse of consciousness he managed to look at his beloved birthday present after he had broken up with Victor. ElDorado. His rocket, his companion, destroyed. He felt he was going to faint again. He closed his eyes. Then a voice._

_"Oh god mom, is she okay?"_

_Someone came closer to the ambulance. "Dear lord, Harry. No."_

_His voice was anxious, desperate. "Is he going to be okay?"_

_The nurses pulled him in. "Please, my sister is not a murderer. Please."_

_Sherlock half-opened his eyes and saw him. "Please tell me he is going to be okay. Please tell me he'll survive."_

_What a nice voice, what a soothing, soothing voice._

_He closed his eyes and let go._


	20. Come Go With Me

“Sherlock! Sherlock wake up!”   
**  
** Sherlock opened his eyes, feeling exhausted. In front of him was John, their noses almost touching while the boy smiled at him. Sherlock sighed, relieved. He was alive, he was here, and he was fine. Then realization hit him, and he almost fell off the couch, and stood up as fast as he could, moving to the other corner of the bedroom, while John stared at him with surprise.   
**  
** “Are you okay?”   
**  
** Suddenly his mind was taking him back to that night, and he could almost feel his body hitting to the ground, the smell of blood, the noise of people, the lights of the ambulance, John’s voice…   
**  
** Until last night, Sherlock could only recall some of the events that had happened the night of the accident, he remembered he was at a party, he remembered Victor, he remembered his car, he remembered the impact, and then it was mostly just darkness. He hadn’t remember the pills, the nine pills...   
**  
** It had been his fault, it had all been his fault.   
**  
** A terrible feeling of guilt rushed all over his body, his mind was now in his house, and John was in front of him, looking at him worriedly, and what if John would have been in his car? What if he had killed him? The thought was just unbearable.   
**  
** He couldn’t do that to John.   
**  
** John came closer to him and touched Sherlock’s cheek, who kept his eyes fixed on the boy but didn’t mutter a single word, he seemed lost somewhere else. Yet he reacted instantly as soon as he felt John’s hand in his face. It was more than just a touch, it was a message, that he was alive, that John was fine, that they both survived and so did Harry that night.   
**  
** “Sherlock, what’s wrong?”   
**  
** Sherlock blinked. “Nothing, I’m fine.” He smiled and looked into John’s bright eyes with a small smile.   
**  
** “Are you sure?” John asked nervously. He couldn’t help but think Sherlock’s reaction was because of the fact they had slept together, and he was now having second thoughts. John felt terrified but there was not much he could do about it.   
**  
** Sherlock nodded, keeping his smile and trying his best to stop those thoughts that threatened to invade his mind.   
**  
** “Well in that case-” John leaned closer to Sherlock and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “-Good morning.” He said with a smile.   
**  
** Sherlock stared at John for a moment which seemed to last an eternity without articulating a word, and John’s feeling of panic intensified. Until Sherlock finally seemed to land on this universe and smiled reassuringly. “Good morning to you, John.”   
**  
** John smiled and sighed in relief. Then he looked at the clock on the nightstand and rushed off. “Hurry, we have to go to school!”   
**  
** Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I don’t want to go to school!”   
**  
** “You know we have to!”   
  
The greaser sighed. “Fine.”   
**  
** John took off his sweater and was wearing a white t-shirt beneath it. Sherlock looked at him with a small smile, his eyes running through John’s body. John looked back at him and went still. “Oi! Stop peeking!”   
**  
** Sherlock turned his back and smiled. “I am _not_ peeking!”   
**  
** John snorted, but then he felt a bit embarrassed about the question he was about to ask Sherlock and looked down, his eyes fixed on his sweater. “Sherlock, I was wondering if maybe you had something that I could put on to go to school today…It’s just I would be ashamed of wearing the same clothes in two days…”   
**  
** Sherlock smiled and looked at John’s wool sweater, it was really, really ugly. “I don’t have anything that matches _that_ style”, he said making a funny face which earned a laugh from John, and suddenly Sherlock’s eyes lit up and he turned to look at John with a huge grin on his face. “Oh!”   
**  
** John realized what Sherlock wanted to say and widened his eyes and started shaking his head. “No.”   
**  
** Sherlock lifted an eyebrow defiantly.   
**  
** John shook his head more intensely. “NO. There’s no way I’m wearing one of your leather jackets to school! Are you crazy? Do you want me to get my ass kicked senselessly?”   
**  
** Sherlock sighed disappointed and crossed his arms. “It would suit you.”   
**  
** John smiled. “No it wouldn’t. Plus you are like three sizes bigger than me, I would end up wrapped on a leather dress instead of a jacket!”   
**  
** Sherlock laughed and lifted his eyebrow again. “Well, it’s the jacket or nothing.”   
**  
** “Fine, I’ll just appear on my t-shirt then.”   
**  
** Sherlock looked at him again and said with an evil smile. “Don’t worry, that suits you as well.”   
**  
** And John flushed awkwardly.   
**  
** \------------------------------------   
**  
** Breakfast was even weirder. Thankfully for John, Mycroft had apparently been gone, because he didn’t sit on the table with them, but the looks Mrs. Hudson gave him made him feel uncomfortable enough.   
**  
** As soon as he entered to the kitchen to say ‘Good morning’, she looked at him surprised and then the biggest grin drew on her face. Which was weird, because if she was thinking what John thought she was thinking then she wouldn’t be smiling like that… So what was going through Mrs. Hudson’s mind?   
**  
** “Wow, John, I didn’t expect to see you here this morning, what a delight!”   
**  
** “Thank you?” John asked, frowning in confusion.   
**  
** “So… did you ‘sleep’ well last night?” She said with a wink.   
**  
** And there it was, John was flushing again. But he nodded. “Yes! I _slept_ very good last night! Thank you!”   
**  
** “I’m sure you did” She winked at him again and this certainly couldn’t be weirder.   
**  
** They stood silent for a moment, and then John said seriously but very lowly. “Mrs. Hudson, just so you know, nothing happened with Sherlock.”   
**  
** She nodded. “Sure, sure. _Nothing_ happened.”   
**  
** “I’m serious!”   
**  
** She shook her head. “Live and let live, that’s my motto! Now you go to the dining room and I’ll get you some pancakes, alright my boy?”   
**  
** John sighed and turned towards the door, he wanted to end this conversation as soon as possible.   
**  
** \-----------------------------   
**  
** Sherlock was slower than usual. His mind wasn’t working correctly, and he found himself going from the present to the past. He hated remembering that past, because he had changed, he had changed in so many ways, but he knew he would always be haunted by the memory of who he used to be and he couldn’t let that happen.   
**  
** “Sherlock, hurry up, we have to go!” Somebody knocked on the door, while he was taking a shower. He realized he might have taken a bit longer in the bath, and he remembered he had to go to school. _Dreadful. I should probably tell Victor to skip class with me…_   
_**  
** Shit. _   
_**  
** John. John. John! I should probably tell John! Not Victor, John. _   
**  
** He rubbed his eyes with his hands impatiently. He had managed to keep Victor away from his mind since the accident, but John’s question had opened Pandora’s Box, and now he couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to him.   
**  
** Not that he really minded, he was just curious. He was sure he didn’t feel anything for that boy anymore, actually after the accident he kept wondering whether he ever felt anything at all. He reached the conclusion he didn’t _love_ Victor, he just became used to him and felt the constant need of being with him, it was like an addiction, it wasn’t love.   
**  
** It didn’t seem at all like what he felt for John.   
**  
** And there it was again. Damn it. _Love?_ Seriously? Was Sherlock Holmes even capable of loving someone? Love was too big of a word, and he certainly didn’t love John.   
**  
** Did he?   
**  
** Then what was it he felt for the boy?   
**  
** It was something new, he was sure of that.   
**  
** \------------------------   
**  
** They went out as quickly as they could from the house, because certain greaser had taken almost an hour in the shower and now they were running late, but Sherlock stopped abruptly as soon as he saw John’s car.   
_**  
** The floor, the blood, the ambulance, the voice. _   
**  
** All the memories crossed his mind and Sherlock felt unstable because it had all been his fault and it was this same car and it was wrong. He stood still, while John kept looking at him worriedly.   
**  
** “Sherlock, are you really fine?”   
_**  
** _ _The house, air on his lungs, that soothing voice, John_.   
**  
** He blinked back to reality and tried to sound as normal as possible. He nodded, “Yes, I’m fine, of course I’m fine, let’s go!”   
**  
** John smiled at him, a bit calmer than some moments ago. “Do you want to drive?”   
**  
** Sherlock shouted immediately. “NO!”   
**  
** John lifted both his hands, frowning. “Fine, fine, I was just asking. Jesus, Sherlock, calm down a bit!”   
**  
** Sherlock tried to steady himself. “I don’t know what you mean, I’m fine. I’m perfectly calm.” He said in an almost mechanic voice.   
**  
** John looked at him suspiciously. “Okay, then let’s go.”   
**  
** Sherlock didn’t turn on the radio on all the way to school and remained silent during the ride. Now that was what really terrified John.   
**  
** \---------------------------   
**  
** Perhaps the other signal that there was something off with Sherlock was the fact he didn’t stop for a second to think about the consequences of getting out of John’s car at the school. He really should have.   
**  
** As soon as John parked the car and Sherlock got out, everyone’s eyes directed immediately to the greaser, their mouths almost open in surprise. Sherlock realized of that a bit too late and simply entered to the school, ignoring everyone’s stares and chatters. It wasn’t that easy for John, who was not only getting out of his car with a greaser, but also wearing a white t-shirt which didn’t resemble at all the kind of clothes John used. He tried to ignore whatever people said, but he was feeling observed, and it made him terribly uncomfortable.   
**  
** He entered to the school with red cheeks and trying to look as cool as possible, but his face dropped as soon as he saw a bit further into the hallway: Sherlock and Irene.   
**  
** \---------------------------------   
**  
** He felt a hand holding onto his elbow and dragging him into a corner, then, after the initial shock, he saw Irene in front of him, a furious Irene in front of him.   
**  
** “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Sherlock?” She whispered as low as she could.   
**  
** “What do you mean?” Sherlock said with a frown.   
**  
** “While I’m trying to protect your reputation, you just go and fuck this boy and have the wonderful idea of arriving to school together! Are you out of your freaking mind? Do you have any idea of what this will do to _my_ reputation? You’re supposed to be with me, not with some stupid nerd nobody knows about.”   
**  
** Sherlock closed his eyes and said calmly. “Don’t. Call. John. Stupid.”   
**  
** She sighed. “Sherlock, you are supposed to be dating _me_!”   
**  
** “I never wanted to date _you_! I didn’t even ask you to help me, you just decided it would be a good idea, and you know what? I’m tired of other people making decisions for me, I will do whatever the fuck I want!” He said rising his voice, barely containing his anger.   
**  
** “Fine, whatever. You know what? I’m tired of helping you with this. Try to fix this on your own, good luck coming out of the closet.” She said still looking considerably furious and left.   
**  
** Sherlock looked at her turning her back at him and walking away and he just said to himself. _“Just leave me the fuck alone, just get out of here.”_ He blinked back to reality, he wasn’t fighting with Victor, he was fighting with Irene. Shit, he seriously needed to get some sleep, or a pill.   
**  
** No. Not a pill. Just some sleep. Something to hold him into the present. Or someone.   
**  
** \-------------------------------   
**  
** John tried very hard to focus on his class and not thinking about the huge quantity of events that had happened in few hours. Most of all, he was feeling utterly confused. Since Sherlock had woken up he was weird, he was silent, his brain wasn’t working so good, and now he was with Irene. He didn’t have to be a genius to know it: Sherlock was definitely regretting about last night, he was having second thoughts about John and wanted to fix things with Irene. Obviously.   
**  
** So Sherlock didn’t even know what he wanted, but apparently sleeping with John made him realize that he did _not_ want to be with John, he just didn’t know how to say it. But John knew, he simply knew.   
**  
** John sighed because once again, he had filled himself with hopes, illusions and expectations and here was Sherlock once again stepping over them and hurting him. John was seriously getting tired of it. He would not stand the awkwardness between them.   
**  
** He just had to avoid Sherlock at all costs.   
**  
** \---------------------------   
**  
** Sherlock needed a cigarette desperately, and it wasn’t as he needed today’s classes anyway, so he went to the corner, and knowing Mr. Hikes would be giving a lesson at that hour, lit it up. It was… _comforting_ , somehow.   
**  
** He tried to block from his mind all thoughts about Victor, and after the initial shock of last night’s dreams, he finally managed to keep his brain on the present, which was good, because he really didn’t want to remember the past, the therapist, the drugs, the heartbreak, the rehab, the accident… It was all too much.   
**  
** He spent the rest of the hours trying to avoid being found by the teachers and pacing from one place to the other, thinking. He needed some clarity, and after a couple of cigarettes and walking he finally made up his mind. He realized it wasn’t particularly difficult, and he had made his choice long time ago, since that evening sitting at the couch listening to _Roll Over Beethoven_ while John tried to hide his smile. He just knew, but he was never able to see.   
**  
** He had messed it up, he had fixed it, he had messed it up again and now everything seemed to be going good. But he was not going to ruin it, not again. No matter what, he wanted to be with John and as far as he could tell John wanted to be with him. Finally it was clear.   
**  
** He had to find John.   
**  
** \---------------------------   
  
John looked at every side of the hallway before opening his locker, just before lunchtime. He didn’t want to face Sherlock for now, and he needed to focus on school and stuff and-   
**  
** “Hello, Johnny boy.” A voice mumbled from behind.   
**  
** John stood still. He recognized that voice perfectly, that ironic, playful tone, and he hated it. He turned over.   
**  
** Jim leaned closer. He studied John up and down, up and down. John stood as still as he could, his face expressionless, trying not to give anything away. Jim snorted after a while. “I honestly don’t see what Sherlock saw in you, I really don’t see the appeal.”   
**  
** John didn’t answer.   
**  
** Jim started pacing around John, looking at him closely. “I warned you John, I _told_ you. And you decided not to listen to me…” He said playfully.   
**  
** John closed his eyes and still didn’t open his mouth.   
**  
** “I told you there would be consequences, now didn’t I?” He shrugged. “Oh well, it was your choice, Johnny boy. And I’m tired of playing nice with you.”   
**  
** At this moment, John couldn’t help but snort back. “Nice?”   
**  
** Jim widened his eyes and lifted his eyebrows, surprised by the response. He leaned closer and whispered into John’s ear. “You haven’t seen the other side of me as you haven’t seen the other side of Sherlock…” He said with a smile.   
**  
** John looked at him questioningly. “Have you?”   
**  
** “Oh John… I see everything.” He winked at John. “But don’t worry, you’ll find our sides very, very soon.”   
**  
** John stared at him silently.   
**  
** “Just take this conversation as a teensy glimpse of what is about to happen. Don’t think this is over.” He moved a bit further from John. “Ciao, John Watson.”   
**  
** He turned and left.   
**  
** John sighed and realized his hands were clutched in fists and he was pressing his fingernails into the palms very hard, he was also completely rigid, and he had to steady himself as much as he could, despising how much frighten Jim made him feel, and this couldn’t be good. This couldn’t be good at all. This could-   
**  
** “John!”   
**  
** Shit, he was supposed to hide from Sherlock. The hallway was empty by now, since everyone was at the cafeteria, and he too deep in thoughts to even realize of it. But now he reacted and turned his back to Sherlock, putting the books inside his locker. Sherlock apparently didn’t get the message, because he ran towards John.   
**  
** “John!” He said excitedly and expectantly, but John didn’t turn.   
**  
** Sherlock frowned, confused. “Is there anything wrong?”   
**  
** John kept his eyes on the books he was getting into the locker and said slowly. “Don’t worry, there’s no need to tell me. I know.”   
**  
** He knows. Sherlock caught his breath. Then he considered maybe he didn’t. “Know what?”   
**  
** “Please Sherlock,” He said turning to look at him, and it was painful and dreadful looking into the greaser’s eyes. “I saw it in your face after you woke up today. It’s fine. Really. It is. No need to say anything else.”   
**  
** Sherlock stood silent for a moment, silent. John took that as a sign of understanding, closed the locker and turned to leave, but Sherlock reacted and grabbed him by the arm, to push him back.   
**  
** John sighed. “What?”   
**  
** “What are you talking about?”   
**  
** John looked at Sherlock seriously, trying very very hard not to let the bitterness show. “You decided you didn’t want to be with me. You realized of it overnight and you didn’t know how to say it but what you really wanted was to fix things with Irene. I saw you two talking, and I understand. We both had said a thousand times it _won’t_ work and it’s good. It’s fine. Did I get anything wrong?”   
**  
** Sherlock lifted his eyebrow, listening to John curiously. Then he actually _laughed_. John felt a mix of confusion and affection towards this madman. “What are you laughing about?” He said angrily.   
**  
** Sherlock calmed himself a bit and looked at John. “John, you got _everything_ wrong!”   
**  
** John felt even more confused. “What?”   
**  
** “I wasn’t fixing my relationship with Irene…” He leaned closer to John and John stared tentatively at Sherlock’s lips. “I was breaking up with her!”   
**  
** “You were…” Realization suddenly hit John. “…Oh.”   
**  
** “Yes.” Sherlock said playfully.   
**  
** “So you’re not…”   
**  
** “No.” He shook his head.   
**  
** “And you…”   
**  
** “Yes. You.” He shrugged.   
**  
** John couldn’t hide the huge smile that was drawing in his face. Of course he had gotten everything wrong. Of course he had.   
**  
** Sherlock stared at John with a smile on his face. Then he looked around and said excitedly: “I have an idea…”   
**  
** John looked at him quizzically. “Yes?”   
**  
** Sherlock grabbed John’s hand and whispered into his ear. “Run! Now!”   
**  
** So John started running, but Sherlock was larger so he ran faster and after feeling his lungs coming out of his body, they stopped… In front of John’s car. John looked around nervously, both panting. He shook his head. “No…No…”   
**  
** “Oh…Come on… It will be fun!” Sherlock said between breaths.   
**  
** “This…is…dangerous!”   
**  
** “So?”   
**  
** John stared at him, he had to admit he was a little startled by the idea.   
**  
** “I have told you…a thousand times… John! It’s time to… live a little!”   
**  
** John considered his options and, in a rush of madness perhaps, took out the car keys from his pants’ pocket and opened the door. Sherlock smiled. John was about to sit in the driver’s seat when the greaser’s hand stopped him. “Please. May I? Just this time.”   
**  
** John stood for a moment and nodded. Sherlock was terrified of doing it so after the dream, but he had to face his fears. It was the only way of leaving his past behind.   
**  
** “Can I turn on the radio?” Sherlock asked with a silly small smile.   
**  
** “Of course, of course you can.” John said excitedly.   
**  
** They let the music fill the silence for a while, but John decided it was better to ask: “Where are we going?”   
**  
** “I’m not answering that question!”   
**  
** “Are you kidnapping me?”   
**  
** Sherlock laughed. “If I were to, I would have done it long time ago, John.”   
**  
** John laughed along.   
**  
** \--------------------------   
**  
** They arrived to the middle of nowhere. It was the top of a mountain and it took them like an hour to get there, but John really had no idea of what this place was. "Come on, we’re here!"   
**  
** "Here?" John asked confused.   
**  
** "Yes."   
**  
** "Sherlock, right now I'm really worried you might kidnap me, to be honest."   
**  
** Sherlock laughed. "Don't be silly John. If I were to kidnap you, I wouldn't have brought you here on the first place. Maybe a lonely basement. It seems like a better place to hide a person." He smiled viciously.   
**  
** "Should I feel scared of what you just said?"   
**  
** "Maybe."   
**  
** John smiled. "What is this place, anyway?"   
**  
** "Dewer's Hollow."   
**  
** John turned to look at Sherlock. It was a small refuge. But he couldn't quite picture the greaser in here. "Dewer's Hollow?"   
**  
** "My favorite place in the world. I used to come here all the time when I was a child, a really _really_ small child and I escaped from my parents, and one day I just stopped coming here, I don’t know why..."

John smiled, looking at Sherlock. "It's beautiful. It really is."   
**  
** Sherlock smiled at John. "Thank you. I like the view."   
**  
** John turned to look at his back and the view was, in fact, incredible. He was speechless, the whole town could be seen from there, and the sun was setting, creating a beautiful picture. "Wow."   
**  
** "I know." Sherlock nodded as he moved towards the car, leaving the door open and turning the volume of the radio up so they could listen to the music. Then he took John's hand. "Come on, let's sit here."   
**  
** They sat, enjoying the view, John leaned his head in Sherlock's shoulder and they stood like that in silence for a long time. Then a song started playing. Del Viking's _Come Go With Me._   
**  
** Sherlock started singing the song, leaning his head close to John's ear so he could hear him. _Love, love me darling, come and go with me..._   
**  
** And in that moment, with those lyrics, John realized he was absolutely lost. Maybe he already knew it but couldn’t admit it. He loved Sherlock. He didn't know how it happened or when it happened, he didn't even know how it felt like, loving someone, he just knew this feeling as if he had felt it a hundred times before. And there he was, this crazy, incredible boy who seemed so out of his reach, so different from him, and he was holding him, and singing to him, and John loved him. _I need you darling, so come with me..._   
**  
** John had always lived a life he never felt was his. He always lived to please somebody else's expectations, to make everybody else happy, but he never wondered whether he was really happy. He realized he wasn't. Well, not until he met Sherlock. Everything had changed drastically. He was different. He was John Watson when he was with Sherlock. Not the boy who only cared about grades or school, but a boy desperate to love, to live, to get out of the cage he had put himself into a long time ago. _Please say you'll never leave me..._   
**  
** And that was why he found Sherlock so seductive, because he was everything John wasn't. And John saw him as a challenge, a mystery, as the most incredible boy he had ever known. Who cared about what people said? He was going to love Sherlock Holmes no matter what, and it might sound absurd, but all of this was absurd. And somehow, it made sense. It worked out. _Tell me darling, we will never part, I need you darling, so come go with me_.   
**  
** Sherlock looked at John curiously, lifting an inquiring eyebrow and feeling a moment of panic, thinking maybe the boy would stand up at any moment and break the spell that was casting between them. He felt the urge to talk, to ease things a bit. "John, I-"   
**  
** Next thing he felt were John's fingertips on his lips, merely a touch, but that sent shivers through Sherlock's spine. The greaser narrowed his eyes, still looking fixedly at the boy. "Don't. Just, shut up, for once." John said but there wasn't a smile there, his eyes were fixed on the fingers still lingering over Sherlock's lips, and those perfect, _perfect_ lips.   
**  
** Sherlock stood speechless, looking at John with his mouth open. In that moment the greaser realized as well that after looking desperately for a way out of the ghosts of his past, all he really needed was John Watson to keep him tied to the present. And Sherlock didn’t know if this was stupid or weak or if it went against everything he always believed in, but did that really matter? It didn’t. All that mattered was _John, John, John._   
**  
** John, the one who fixed him.   
**  
** John, his conductor of light.   
**  
** John, the one who always kept him right.   
**  
** Sherlock smiled, and John thought he looked fantastic, mad, brilliant. His brilliant greaser. _Let go, Watson, let go._   
**  
** And he did. And next thing he felt, Sherlock's lips where on his and they were kissing, and John couldn't think, he couldn't react, all the thoughts in his mind condensed in one word: Sherlock, Sherlock, _Sherlock_. He was in love with Sherlock Holmes and that was all he cared about.

It was John's first kiss ever, and it should have been weird, it should have been awkward, it should have been disappointing. But somehow, it was perfect. It was just him and Sherlock, and he felt utterly comfortable and it just felt right. Wether he was a good kisser or not, he had absolutely no idea, but that didn't matter now. What mattered was that he was kissing Sherlock Holmes! How did that happen?  
 **  
**Sherlock cupped John's face with his hands, holding him tight, refusing to let him go, the kiss was warm, nice, closed-mouthed, and it felt so right, like all the pieces were finally fixing. Like John had found whatever he was looking for but he had no idea he needed. This was ridiculous. It was more than ridiculous. It was impossible. It was never going to work. But it didn't matter, because right here, right now, they had each other. And that's what mattered.  
 **  
**When they parted, Sherlock kept holding John's face and put their foreheads together. Both of them gasped for breath. "You have no idea how much I wanted to do this, John."  
 **  
**"You have no idea how much I wanted to do this, Sherlock." John said smiling. They kept their foreheads together for a while, and then John went back to put his head over the greaser's shoulder.  
 **  
**The music kept playing loud, and John thought he had never enjoyed Mozart, nor Beethoven, not even Bach as much as he was enjoying the song that was playing now.


	21. I Walk The Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay, had a bit of a busy week. Thanks for your understanding and support x :D

They stood together for a while, contemplating the skyline, John's head on Sherlock's shoulder and suddenly everything was fine. John thought that all the things they went through were worth it just for this moment, for this little piece of happiness where everything was fine and they were good and... The man on the radio spoke: "...it's a sunny evening, and it's 4:00 p.m."  
  
John stood up suddenly. "Damn it! I was supposed to be home by two! We have to go now!"  
  
Sherlock relaxed a bit more, enjoying the sunlight, the view and John's company. "Oh come on. Relax, you're already late, there won't be much difference if you arrive some minutes later!"  
  
"Sherlock, come on! We really have to go!"  
  
The greaser stood up with a sigh and entered the car, sulking. John smiled fondly and turned the car on. None of them said a word as the car started, it was not necessary, they were happy.  
  
Sherlock was entertained enough listening to rock n roll anyway. John realized how much things have changed for him. He had just had his _first_ kiss, and with a _boy!_ And with the most popular and brilliant boy in the school! What the hell? Since when did things start to work out for him?  
  
Now he had skipped a class, he was going late to his house, and listening to rock n' roll with his boyfriend. Damn it, did he just thought of Sherlock as his _boyfriend?_ That was beyond stupid, they were not, they- "JOHN, WATCH OUT!" Sherlock yelled suddenly, taking John off all his thoughts. He realized he was about to hit another  car, since the red light was on and he kept on rolling. He stopped abruptly, incredibly close to the other car.  
  
John felt terrified for a moment, and after that he could barely mutter "Sorry, I'm so sorry, I was thinking about something else." He turned to look at Sherlock, who was pale, breathing fast and shivering. "God, I'm sorry, Sherlock." He said cupping the greaser's face with one of his hands.  
  
Sherlock returned from the sudden flashback and cleared his throat, realizing that John was soothing him, but this time he wasn't being taken to the ambulance while listening to his voice. He blinked and spoke lowly. "No, it's... It's fine."  
  
"God no, it isn't. I can't imagine how terrified you must have been. You have almost been killed by two Watsons." He said with a little giggle, but since Sherlock seemed to keep struggling with the shock he stopped laughing and cleared his throat as well. "Sorry, bad joke."  
  
Sherlock blinked back to reality again. And he felt _so_ much fault, because, well, the first time he hadn't almost been killed by a Watson, he almost killed a Watson and he really, _really_ had to tell John it hadn't been his sister's fault. He didn't answer, he stood there, quiet, his eyes fixed on a dead spot.  
  
As the light turned green, John swore under his breath and moved aside, stopping the car and turning it off. "God, Sherlock. Please tell me you are okay. Please."  
  
Sherlock returned his gaze to John, not realizing he had moved the car or anything. He saw the concern in John's face and tried to pull himself back together. "Yes. Yes, I'm fine. Just a little...flashback to the accident. But it's alright." He kept saying trying to convince both John and himself.  
  
John sighed in relief and leaned closer, pressing a fast kiss on the tip of Sherlock's nose. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."  
  
Sherlock smiled slightly, feeling better after the small kiss and answered sarcastically. "And you say I'm the lousy driver..."  
  
John laughed and turned the car on again. Sherlock turned to look at him. "Are _you_ okay?"  
  
John tried his best to keep his focus on the road. "Who? Me? Oh yes. I'm fine, you just...terrified me a little, I thought for a second I had broken you or something."  
  
Sherlock laughed. "Don't be silly, it would take far much more than that in order to break me." Well, it didn't take that much really, but he had to make John believe he was fine.  
  
The greaser fell silent, he was still shivering and trying to keep himself steady because he was definitely _not_ thinking about the accident and _"Please tell me he is going to be okay. Please tell me he'll survive."_  
  
He blinked and turned to look at John, who was staring fixedly at the road. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"  
  
John frowned, not taking his eyes off the road. "What?"  
  
"You just said something, but I couldn't quite understand..."  
  
"Sherlock, I didn't say anything..." John turned to look at the greaser quickly. He was still pale. "Are you sure you're okay? Do you want me to take you to the hospital? Maybe you have a concussion..."  
  
" _Please, my sister is not a murderer, please."_ Sherlock was having trouble distinguishing between past and present. He took his hands to his head and covered his ears, almost yelling. "NO!" He said firmly though he didn't know quite well what he was refusing to.  
  
John's frown deepened. "Okay. Okay. It's fine. Don't worry, I'll take you home."  
  
"...the ambulance." Sherlock whispered, closing his eyes tightly as another light went red.  
  
John stopped and turned to look at the greaser. "What?"  
  
"You said you were taking me to my home, I know I'm being taken to the ambulance. But I'm fine, I'm breathing. Harry, how's Harry?"  
  
"Shit, Sherlock. I'm sorry, open your eyes. Open your eyes, _please."_ John pleaded, terrified.  
  
Sherlock opened his eyes and John was in front of him, he was still in the car and he took a deep breath. "Alive. Breathing." He deduced out loud.  
  
John nodded, trying to smile so Sherlock would calm down. "Yes. Alive. Breathing. By my side."  
  
Sherlock smiled. "By your side."  
  
The light turned green and John rushed to Sherlock's house. He sighed in relief as soon as they arrived, turning to look at the greaser,  who had now gained a bit more of color and had stopped shivering. He placed his hand over Sherlock's face and asked him lowly. "Are you sure you're fine?"  
  
"Yes, yes, I'm fine." Sherlock said looking directly into John's eyes.  
  
John knew it was a lie because what had just happened wasn't normal at all, but probably Sherlock just needed some time to rest. He nodded. "Good, I have to rush. Please, _please,_ take care of yourself."  
  
"Yes, yes." Sherlock said dismissively.  
  
John didn't know what to do now. Was he supposed to kiss him again? Hug him? Calm him?  
  
Sherlock answered his unspoken question by leaning closer and placing a chaste but tender kiss into John's mouth. "I'll see you later."  
  
John couldn't avoid hiding the silly smile that drew on his face. "Bye. Thanks for um...all of this and I'm sorry... For um..."  
  
"It's fine. I'm fine, don't worry." He said opening the door of the car, he honestly didn't want to do anything but sleeping until the next day. He turned back to John's car, and leaned his head through the open window. "Bye, love." He said with a reassuring smile.  
  
John smiled back and started the car, his eyes fixed on Sherlock as he turned around and moved towards his house. He was still a bit worried but he knew Sherlock would be okay. He just needed some sleep.  
  
\----------------  
  
John rushed towards his house, trying to come up with some excuse for his mom, who would probably be losing his mind by now. It was almost five o' clock, and while he was still a bit preoccupied about the greaser, his biggest worry right now was building up a good lie.  
  
He got none.  
  
Finally, he decided he'd improvise (though he sucked at it) and entered to his house with a sigh. Harry ran to him and before John even managed to say 'Hi' she was already shoving him towards the dining table.  
  
"John Hamish Watson..." She said seriously, arms crossed over her chest, sounding a bit protective.  
  
John looked around trying to find his mom, and a huge feeling of guilt appeared, as he pictured scenarios: maybe she was in the police, or looking at neighbors' houses, or calling his father... "Where is mom?"  
  
"She left early, her friends are playing bridge, so she left _me_ in charge. Don't worry. She doesn't suspect anything."  
  
John felt relieved. "Oh, that's good."  
  
"Now..." She said, her face tensing up a bit, sounding surprisingly serious. "Everyone was talking about you during lunch. John, what the hell happened with that greaser boy?"  
  
John swallowed hard. Everyone was a _lot_ of people. "What do you mean what happened?"  
  
"I know you arrived with him in the same car and I know why, but I don't know what happened last night and I do know you were with him! Now tell me, John, please."  
  
John trusted Harry, but he honestly didn't want to tell her much about Sherlock and...whatever had happened between them. "Okay okay, first of all, absolutely _anything_ happened last night. I swear. I fell asleep because I was exhausted, but I woke up this morning and we left and that was all."  
  
"Why are you wearing a white t-shirt? Where's your sweater?" She asked, not very convinced about John's words.  
  
"Because, I wasn't going to arrive wearing the same sweater I wore the day before, with _that_ people would have talked!"  
  
"They suspected lots of things, but I denied everything. I just said Sherlock lost the bus and you gave him a lift. You _have_ to be careful John. Look, I don't know what's going on between that kiddo and you, but I have told you before, I don't trust him."  
  
"That's because you don't know him, Harry!"  
  
"Do you really?" She asked dead serious.  
  
John tried his absolute best to sound convincing. "Yes." He nodded emphatically. "Yes I do." Except he felt he really didn't, but he would deal with that later.  
  
"And you were with him today..."  
  
John found an opportunity to deviate the questions his sister would definitely ask and changed the topic entirely. "You have no idea, Harry. We almost had an accident!"  
  
It had a great effect. Suddenly, Harry became very curious and wanted to know everything about the near-accident, which John agreed to tell her after she promised not to say a word of it to their mother. She was a bit shocked after John told his story. "...Wow. I never thought he would have been so...affected by it."  
  
John shrugged. "Neither did I."  
  
"Is he okay?" She asked, sounding a bit worried.  
  
"Yes, well, he said he was alright. I don't know."  
  
"I'm sorry, this is my fault." Harry said, feeling guilty.  
  
"Yes but it's okay, I mean it's normal, isn't it?"  
  
Harry looked down. "Um yeah, probably. I mean, I still feel a bit terrified when it comes to driving and the days after it I didn't like going into the street, plus he got the worst part of it so... He'll get better, eventually"  
  
"Thank you Harry, I really needed to hear that." He said turning toward the stairs.  
  
Harry yelled after him. "You care a lot about him, don't you?"  
  
John took a deep breath and smiled, his face not visible for his sister. "More than I should, Harry. More than I should."  
  
\---------------------  
  
Sherlock was exhausted. As soon as he entered to his house he ran to his bed and threw himself on it. He hated admitting it, but the frighten he felt when they almost crashed the car wasn't close to any other emotion he ever felt before. He didn't want to fall asleep now, because he knew how it would be, his brain was still confused, playing from one time to the other, mixing priory school uniforms with leather jackets, pills with cigarettes, Victor with John...  
  
 _John._ With the fear he had forgotten about what had happened in Dewer's Hollow, and it felt more real than anything Sherlock had ever felt before, and it was incredible and what were they now? He didn't really want to think about that question, probably because he didn't want to know the answer. He just needed John by his side and he would be fine. He kept him right.  
  
He closed his eyes and fell in a deep but misty sleep, filled with memories old and new, until the accident felt so real he snapped awake, almost falling off the bed, sweating, looking around and trying to calm himself down as he realized he was fine. He was panting and didn't want to sleep more, just thinking about different things in the darkness.  
  
He had forsaken the last case, the one about the double murder, and the police apparently hadn't reached any conclusion, obviously they needed his help but Dimmock had too much pride to admit it. But he definitely was going to come back and help them, he needed his mind set elsewhere, anything was better than this.  
  
With that, deep in thoughts, exhaustion caught him over and he finally fell asleep again.  
  
\------------------

  
John and Sherlock didn't see each other during the whole day until lunchtime, when the boy arrived quietly, not wanting to interrupt the greaser's reading of George Orwell's  _1984._ He simply sat next to him in the bench and looked at him with a small smile on his face.   
  
Sherlock turned to look at him and then fixed his eyes on the book again. He said firmly "You should be having lunch."   
  
John received the message and realized his presence was unwelcome, so he cleared his throat and shifted to the edge of the seat, standing up. "Right, sorry. Thought you'd like some company. I'm off."   
  
Sherlock closed the book instantly and wrapped his hand over John's wrist, attempting to stop him. John turned to look at him, frowning and the greaser shook his head. "No, no. I wasn't asking you to leave, please sit back, if you want." The boy sat again with a small smile. "I just didn't want you to skip lunch."   
  
"I'm not hungry, plus I enjoy sitting here. It has become a...  _Familiar_ place."   
  
Sherlock smiled and shifted to have a better look at John. "Good. Look, I need you to lie to your mom."   
  
John frowned at the sudden petition, looked around to see if anyone was in the hall and leaned to press a quick kiss on Sherlock's lips. "Good afternoon to you too, I'm fine."   
  
Sherlock smiled and shook his head. "Sorry. Hi." He leaned in and gave John another quick kiss. "...now I really need you to talk to her."   
  
"Why?"   
  
"Because we are going to keep our investigation about your neighbors' murder."   
  
"Oh,  _we_ are?" John asked curiously. To be honest he really wanted to. "I thought you had already solved it..."   
  
"I was... _distracted._ " Sherlock said rolling his eyes, not wanting to admit he didn't have a clue.   
  
"You were sad." John said rising his eyebrow.   
  
"Why would I had been sad?" Sherlock asked frowning.   
  
"Because I wasn't there to help you... I was angry with you, remember?"   
  
"Of course I remember, even though I don't want to. And no, I wasn't  _sad."_ He said as if it was the most absurd he had ever heard.   
  
John chuckled and gave Sherlock a kiss on the cheek. "Of course not." He said, unconvinced.   
  
"You know I don't feel things that way." Sherlock said stoically.   
  
"Because I know you, I know you feel things that way, even though you pretend you don't because you're and idiot."   
  
Sherlock snorted. "Nonsense! Now call your mom and tell her you'll be home late. I don't want to have troubles with her. Specially now that she loves me."   
  
"She wouldn't love you if she knew you are snogging her son." John smiled. "But what do I tell her?"   
  
"You'll figure something out." Sherlock said with a wink.   
  
Suddenly, Sherlock grabbed John's hand and looked at him. "Stand up, quickly."   
  
John stood up confused. "Where are we going?"   
  
"I know where we can find a phone and you can call your mom." Sherlock said, rushing John throughout the hall.   
  
"Are you crazy? I'm not escaping school again!" John said decidedly, stopping.   
  
"We are  _not_ escaping the school! Now come on! Hurry!" Sherlock said walking fast again.   
  
They stopped in front of the principal's office. John felt terrified as soon as he saw the title on the door. He shook his head sharply. "No. No way, I'm not entering there, do you want us to get expelled?"   
  
"We won't get expelled! Using the phone is not against the rules, plus we would just get a detention, and he's having lunch. We just need to distract his secretary!"   
  
"But she's in there!"   
  
"So?" Sherlock said shrugging and opening the door, letting John's hand go off his.   
  
"Sherlock, no!"   
  
"Mrs Greene! Mrs Greene!" Sherlock said rushing towards the door, his voice sounded serious and John barely looked at them both from afar, not having entered yet.   
  
She was typing something and looked up at Sherlock, rising her eyebrow. "Yes?"   
  
Sherlock stood quiet for a moment and looked down. He looked up and replied. "Your husband is in the reception. He says he's here to take you to the doctor's appointment to check on the baby."   
  
She looked distracted for a second. "But the appointment is tomorrow!"   
  
Sherlock threw his hands in the air. "Well, you better go and tell him!"   
  
She stood up and walked out of the office, looking taken aback.   
  
Sherlock looked at John with a wink. "Done!"   
  
John stood startled. "You are brilliant!"   
  
Sherlock grabbed him by the sweater and pulled him in. "Thank you love, but I do believe you have a phone call to make quickly! I'll keep an eye on the door."   
  
John entered to the secretary's office and took the phone, dialing quickly. His mom picked up. "Hello?"   
  
"Hi, mom!" John said lowly.   
  
"Oh dear, is everything okay? Are you alright?" She said worriedly.   
  
"What? Yes, yes. I'm fine, listen mom, I'm having lunch but I had to call you because um..."  _An excuse, fast, make up an excuse. Oh sod it, I'll tell her the truth, she won't end up liking Sherlock anyway._ "Was called by Scotland Yard a few moments ago." Well, he would say  _technically_ the truth.   
  
"What?" His mom asked even more worried.   
  
"Yes, remember the murder? Well, they asked me to go and answer some questions so they can get to know them better. Since I was helping them, they figured I could be of some use so... I'll be arriving home late."   
  
His mom sighed in relief and smiled a little. "Okay sweetheart, but please take care,  _please._ Will your friend be there?"   
  
"Which friend?" John asked curiously.   
  
"Sherlock!"   
  
"He is  _not_ my friend, mom!" Well, that was  _technically_ the truth.   
  
"I would feel better knowing you're with him."   
  
_You certainly wouldn't, mom._ "Um, I can ask him to come with me, maybe he would, if he has not much to do, but I don't promise anything!"   
  
"Oh that would be lovely sweetheart! Don't drive too late, John!"   
  
"No mom, I love you, bye."   
  
Almost as soon as he hung up, Sherlock entered whispering. "Shit!"   
  
"What?" John replied whispering as well.   
  
"Dorothy! Dorothy!" A voice came from outside. The principal's voice.   
  
John widened his eyes. "What do we do, Sherlock?"   
  
Sherlock put his finger on John's mouth, shoving him towards the back of the door, they stood completely still, the door hung opened, while the voice became clearer and clearer.   
  
The principal entered to the secretary's office. "Dorothy!"   
  
John held his breath, and Sherlock drew his hand up to put it over the boy's mouth, who was threatening with yelling or crying or shivering.   
  
"Shit, where did she go?" The principal said angrily.   
  
Then he stalked out the door, calling Dorothy along the hallway and losing himself on it.   
  
Sherlock whispered on John's ear. "I think he's gone." He took his hand back from John's mouth.   
  
John left out a breath he didn't know he was holding and moved out of the door, he took a look to the hallway which was now empty and relaxed. "God, that was clos-"   
  
His lips were captured in that moment by Sherlock's, who pushed him against the door and gave him a rough kiss, which made John forget absolutely everything, including where they were standing.   
  
Sherlock's tongue licked John's lips as an invitation, and John's mouth parted, allowing the greaser in, who took hold of the boy's hair, pulling lightly at it, and John thought that was the hottest thing in the world. After a small glimpse of consciousness, both John and Sherlock remembered where they were and parted. They were both panting. "Now this is something I've  _always_ wanted to do!" Sherlock said excitedly.   
  
John smiled and looked to the office and  _shit!_ He grabbed Sherlock by his jacket's cuff. "Run!"   
  
They ran out and came back to the bench, trying to catch their breaths. When they could talk better, John said. "That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done."   
  
"And you have been visited by your mom while investigating a crime scene..."   
  
They laughed for a long time, until John turned to look at Sherlock, his face a bit more serious. "Now,  _how_ did you know she was pregnant?"   
  
"You see but you don't observe, John. She was wearing her wedding ring, as soon as I entered, she took her hand to her belly instinctively, and there was a piece of paper laying on the table which read  _Dr. Chambers_ and had a telephone number. Connecting the dots was textbook."   
  
John looked at him surprised. "You are brilliant!"   
  
And Sherlock flushed and John couldn't hide his grin, he leaned and placed a kiss on the greaser's cheek. Then he became more serious.  "She could lose her job, Sherlock."   
  
"Firing a pregnant woman is forbidden, John. Obviously."   
  
John felt relieved. They stood silent for a moment. That until John realized... "We could have told Harry, you know?"   
  
Sherlock widened his eyes with the realization. He felt ashamed. "Didn't think of it..." He said awkwardly.   
  
John laughed. "Yeah, neither did I. Plus, it would have been less exciting."   
  
The bell rang and John stood up, trying to get as far from Sherlock as he could, trying to avoid people's comments and Jim Moriarty.   
  
Before leaving, he whispered to Sherlock. "I'll see you in twenty minutes at the parking lot, okay?"

Sherlock nodded, a small smile drawing on his face.


	22. You've Got Me Wondering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I _need_ to know because _this_ is driving me crazy."

John had never been to a morgue before. He really shouldn't feel excited, but he couldn't deny he honestly was. He was going to be a doctor anyway, and even though this was terrifying, he needed to handle it correctly.  
  
Funny thing was that they weren't there as part of the inquiry, they were there because Sherlock wanted to see the body of a woman who had been killed three days ago and apparently the police had managed to solve the case without his help. Just with a glance at the body he realized they had been wrong and the killer hadn't been her roommate but her ex-boyfriend.  
  
John couldn't help but be amazed at how incredibly smart Sherlock was. He was a genius, he really was. His lips twitched slightly, trying to keep serious because a person had actually died, but Sherlock was just so...brilliant. John couldn't help it.  
  
After a while, they both went to the local police and saw pictures of the murder, John was interrogated about his neighbors and the crime scene. While Dimmock imprisoned the dead woman's ex-boyfriend, John and Sherlock sat on his office, Sherlock staring at the pictures attentively, trying to find a clue, _any_ clue.  
  
Suddenly, in a wave of rage, he yelled and tossed the pictures to the floor. John looked at him surprised, jumping at the sudden noise. He found the greaser with his hands on his head, breathing hard, trying to steady himself.  
  
The boy came closer to Sherlock, and wrapped his arms around the greaser, pulling his head towards his belly. "Don't worry, I know you'll figure it out."  
  
Sherlock closed his eyes at the touch, trying to maintain the calm. "No, I won't."  
  
"Sherlock..."  
  
"No. I don't have a clue, nothing to go on, we already confirmed it has nothing to do with the threatens they had received before. There's nothing left to look for. I don't know. I'm lost."  
  
"Don't say that."  
  
Sherlock sighed. "...I'm a failure, John."  
  
"No, you're not."  
  
"Yes I am. I'm worthless, it's never enough, I'm never smart enough, I never work hard enough, I never do anything well... I'm exhausted, John."  
  
"You need to get some rest."  
  
Sherlock shook his head, furrowed in John's belly. "I'm not going anywhere. I need to solve the murder."  
  
"You can solve it tomorrow, Sherlock. _We_ can solve it tomorrow, after school, okay?"  
  
"I won't solve anything."  
  
Alright, John needed to do something now. His fingers went to Sherlock's jaw and he lifted his head, so the greaser's eyes met his. "Stop it, Sherlock. Stop it now." He crouched, so they could stare at each other. "Usually you're the one who supports me, but now you are the one who is being irrational, which is weird coming from you."  
  
Sherlock turned his head, facing to the left, not wanting to face John. The boy placed his fingers on Sherlock's chin and turned his head back. "Listen to me. You are brilliant. Have I not said it enough times? You are incredible and smart, the smartest person I've ever met. If there's someone who can solve this murder, it's you. Hell, you just solved one by looking at a dead body! Not even the police could solve it but you did!"  
  
"The police wouldn't solve a murder even if the murderer accused himself in front of them." Sherlock said seriously.  
  
John laughed. "But you can solve anything. Believe me."  
  
Sherlock sighed and managed a weak smile at the boy. John touched the greaser's cheek and kept his hold there. "...Thank you." Sherlock said closing his eyes at the touch.  
  
"Don't you ever, ever think so little of yourself again."  
  
Sherlock leaned in and kissed John, a chaste kiss, until John's lips parted and they could kiss better, Sherlock's hands pulling at John's hair, wishing they could be closer and closer. After a while they broke, panting.  
  
John smiled, thinking about how incredibly besotted he was for this man. Then his gaze turned serious. "You do need to get some rest. And something to eat."  
  
"Eating slows me down, how many times do I have to say it?"  
  
"I don't care! You have to eat!"  
  
Sherlock sighed, looking down. He was feeling somewhat better.  
  
They waited, doing small talk until Dimmock arrived, having found the ex-boyfriend of the girl. John stood up. "Mmm...Sir, we have to go. Sherlock's not feeling well. He's exhausted."  
  
"That's a lie." Sherlock said behind John's back.  
  
John threw him a serious gaze before glaring back at the DI, who nodded and waved them goodbye.  
  
"I'll be back tomorrow." Sherlock said seriously.  
  
"Actually, Holmes, I have a favor to ask you."  
  
Sherlock looked at Dimmock questioningly, his eyes narrowing.  
  
"I've been asked to investigate a case regarding a serious of threats being made to the workers at the local fair. We want to avoid any accident and I want to focus on the case, so..."  
  
"You want me to go there and find out who is doing the threats.."  
  
"If it's not too much trouble. You need something new to work in, anyway."  
  
Sherlock thought for a moment silently. He then looked at John who gave him a sharp nod. "We'll be there."  
  
Dimmock looked at John, then turned to look at Sherlock. "Holmes, I'd prefer it if you went by yourself, I don't want anyone else getting into police's business."  
  
Sherlock raised his eyebrow, seriously. John felt very uncomfortable and was ready to tell Sherlock there was no problem with that (except there was because he kind of wanted to go) but the greaser cut him off with a reply. "Either John goes or we don't go."  
  
Dimmock looked at him for a moment in silence, but then reluctantly nodded. "Fine."  
  
John felt a pinch of fondness for the boy, who stood up for him. He smiled at him as they walked away. He cleared his throat and turned to face Sherlock. "That was nice, thank you."  
  
Sherlock nodded. "It would have been boring not going with you anyway, John."  
  
John smiled. "Yeah, I kind of want to go."  
  
Sherlock smiled back and they continued in silence towards the car. It was already dark when they left.  
  
\----------------------  
  
They walked until they reached the end of the street, and as soon as they turned the corner, John stopped Sherlock, grabbing him by the elbow. The greaser turned to look at him a bit surprised.  
  
"Okay maybe I'll hate myself later for it, but I _need_ to know because _this_ is driving me crazy." John said seriously, not meeting Sherlock's eyes.  
  
Sherlock raised an eyebrow questioningly, which John took as a signal to keep talking. "I've asked this before, and I always screw up and we always end up fighting..."  
  
Sherlock stood silent, looking focused. "...and it's alright if you don't want to answer..."  
  
The greaser kept waiting. "...Maybe I don't even want to know but I feel like I have to..."  
  
Sherlock threw an exasperated sigh and his hands in the air. "For God's sake John! Speak up now!"  
  
John looked at Sherlock a little dazzled by the interruption and cleared his throat. "Okay. It's just... I... Are we something?" The boy felt infinitely boring and awkward and terrified.  
  
Sherlock looked at him surprised, then his gaze turned into a fond one. He opened his mouth and then closed it, then he opened it and closed it again.  
  
John looked down and shook his head, a small, disappointed smile on his lips. "...I knew I shouldn't have asked. Sorry, message received."  
  
He turned and left a still shocked Sherlock behind, who seemed to finally react and raise his voice. "What do you want us to be?"  
  
John stopped for a moment, trying to clear his mind and _answer_ the goddamned question, but he was so surprised, he just stood like that, his back turned against Sherlock, who looked at him expectantly. The boy finally turned after a while. "What?"  
  
Sherlock smiled softly. "I just asked what do you want us to be?"  
  
John thought for a moment. What did he want them to be? He had absolutely no idea. All this time he had pictured a thousand things in his mind, but now that he was being confronted with that question, his mind turned blank.  
  
Sherlock chuckled. "Not an easy question, is it?"  
  
John shook his head, his mouth closed in a thin line. He opened his mouth again, trying hard to just _think._ "I... I... I don't know."  
  
Sherlock looked disappointed for a moment, exhaling a soft sigh. Then his face seemed to put the façade on again and he looked expressionless, facing John.  
  
John knew the greaser had gotten it wrong. "No, no. I mean, I want us to be _something."_  
  
"We are something, we are... _Friends?"_ Sherlock said, feeling weird, he wasn't used to that word.  
  
John felt a bit surprised Sherlock thought there was a doubt about wether they were friends or not. Of course they were friends, the question in here was if there was room for _more._ "I don't know about you..." John said, his eyes fixed on the ground, not wanting to face the greaser. "...but I don't kiss my friends." He said with a silly smile on his face.  
  
Sherlock smirked. "Well, it's not like you've had much experience with friends anyway."  
  
That should have hurt. John knew it normally would. It was true, he didn't have friends at all except for Sherlock and well, Mike maybe? But it was so... Sherlock-like, John just felt a comment like that from the greaser was completely normal and he smiled widely. He felt a bit less tensioned. "Yeah, I suppose you're right."  
  
"So, what do you think?" Sherlock said seriously.  
  
John's mind had deviated completely from the thought in question, so when he realized he hadn't replied, he tried to _think_ again, but his brain seemed dry. "Well, I _love_ that you call me love." He smiled.  
  
Sherlock smiled back, "Fine, then. You are my love." He winked at him.  
  
John felt his heart was about to come out of his chest, his cheeks were red and he felt a kind of happiness he had never felt before, he smiled widely. "Yeah, I'd like that. Say it again."  
  
"No." Sherlock turned and started walking.  
  
John laughed, rushing to follow the greaser. "You are impossible! Come on! Say it again! I couldn't hear you quite well the first time!"  
  
Sherlock sighed while he kept walking. "I'm not good with those... Sentiments."  
  
"Say it again, you insufferable git!" John said sharply, but with a smile.  
  
Sherlock stopped, looking at John and pretending to be serious but his mouth tricked him, and his lips twitched with a small smile. "Excuse me?"  
  
"Say. It. Again." John said, leaning closer to Sherlock.  
  
"I am _not_ an insufferable git!" Sherlock said, protesting.  
  
John replied with a snort.  
  
Sherlock turned his jacket collar up and threw John a killing gaze before turning and keep walking.  
  
John knew the greaser was just being dramatic, but still he didn't want any trouble. "Oh, come on!"  
  
Sherlock started walking faster. John had to rush to keep up with him.  
  
"Oi, stop it! Stop it! I can't catch you 'cause I'm tiny!" John said panting.  
  
Sherlock stopped and cracked in laughter, and it was the first time John saw him laughing like that, and he felt a huge rush of happiness, because he was the cause of his laughter and it was adorable. He started laughing too.  
  
Sherlock brought a hand to his stomach as he eventually stopped laughing. He then looked at John and tried to cover his face up with absolute seriousness. John glared at him. "You're an idiot." Sherlock said, attempting to sound hurt.  
  
John smiled and took Sherlock by the collar of his jacket, tugging him closer. "But I'm _your_ idiot."  
  
The greaser smiled and then snorted. "If you call me an insufferable git again, you won't be _my_ idiot anymore."  
  
The boy stared at Sherlock rising an eyebrow. "You didn't say it again."  
  
Sherlock sighed. "Oh, don't start with that again."  
  
"Please? For me?" John pleaded.  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Fine, you are my love. Happy?"  
  
John smiled. "I'd say so." And brought his lips to Sherlock's, smiling into the kiss.  
  
\--------------------  
  
The fair was very nice. Not that they actually had time to ride on any of the attractions, because well, Sherlock wouldn't do it anyway. Instead, the greaser and John spent all of Thursday's evening talking to the workers at the fair, each one of them giving a different story on how they received their threat.  
  
One of them said they received a letter, with a message typed, which he handed to Sherlock: _here starts the game, here comes the fair. Either leave or stay to play. Just one movement wrong and poof! You'll be gone._  
  
Sherlock examined the message carefully. John looked at him questioningly. "The paper is from Bohemia. They were running out of ink as I can tell from the last letters, but aside from that, there's not much to get from it." He sighed.  
  
"Boy?" The man they were talking to looked at Sherlock questioningly and the greaser turned to look at him. "Are we going to be alright?"  
  
Sherlock stood silent. His mouth opening and closing. Not knowing quite what to say. After a long moment of silence, John decided to take the lead because clearly the greaser wasn't going to. He cleared his throat and stepped forward, while Sherlock stood on the back, looking to the ground. "Well, that's exactly what we'll work for. To assure you you'll be alright."  
  
The man merely nodded and Sherlock lifted his face to look at John, he smiled weakly.  
  
Another man received flowers, well not exactly flowers but a crown of flowers, like one of those you received on your grave. He couldn't show it to them but he described they were black and there was a small card right next to it which read: _here starts the game._ Sherlock thanked him and remained silent.  
  
By the time they had interviewed a large portions of the workers at the fair, Sherlock was still silent. There were other messages, some pictures, even newspaper articles sent to them: they were all threatened in a different way, but all of them contained the word _game._  
  
Who the hell were they 'playing' with?  
  
Sherlock assured them all he would come back tomorrow to continue with the inquiries by the time the fair had closed, and while John said goodbye, the greaser started walking ahead of him.  
  
"Sherlock, wait!" John said, trying to catch the greaser up.  
  
Sherlock didn't stop, maybe his steps raced, and he slowly placed his hands in his jacket, walking faster and faster.  
  
John ran to catch him. "What the hell?" He asked breathless.  
  
Sherlock had his eyes fixed straight on the road. "I'm thinking."  
  
"So?"  
  
Sherlock turned to face John, not stopping. "So stop talking!" He said almost desperately. "Stop distracting me. I. Need. To. Think." He said with a sulk and kept walking.  
  
"Sherlock, wait!"  
  
"LEAVE ME ALONE!"  
  
"Like hell I'm going to leave you alone, Sherlock!" He said grabbing the greaser by the elbow and pulling him to stop.  
  
Sherlock stopped and looked at John sharply. John continued. "What's wrong, Sherlock?"  
  
"There's nothing wrong!" Sherlock said shaking his head.  
  
John stared fixedly at him. "I don't believe you."  
  
Sherlock sighed, looking down.  
  
"Please tell me what's wrong."  
  
"They trust me. They all are placing their trust in me. They are literally trusting me with their lives and I can't promise anything. I don't know if I'll be able to find it out before the threatens start to be executed. I can't... I just can't."  
  
"Stop it, Sherlock." John said, sliding his hands over Sherlock's forearms. "I understand why they trust you. Because you are a genius. They know you'll solve it. _I_ know you'll solve it."  
  
Sherlock looked up to meet John's eyes. "You shouldn't trust me."  
  
John swallowed but replied with certainty. "Yet your actions say otherwise."  
  
The greaser blinked, trying to understand how was it even possible for someone like him having found someone as incredible as John. After a while all he could do was give the boy a weak and shaky smile. "Thank you."  
  
John took Sherlock's hand and the greaser's mind went blank at the touch. "Come on." He said, both of them walking back to the fair. "I have my car parked. I'll take you home."  
  
Sherlock nodded and smiled.  
  
\-----------------  
  
"Sorry for freaking out." That was all he managed to say after a silent ride on the car. They had finally stopped in front of Sherlock's house.  
  
John threw him a small smile. "Don't worry, it's fine. It's just... Why?"  
  
Sherlock looked at him in confusion. "Why what?"  
  
"Why do you think so bad of yourself?"  
  
Sherlock looked down defensively, not wanting to face John. "I just..." He then closed his mouth, wanting to say so many things he didn't dare. _I function better with drugs, I'm confused, I kept mixing past and present, I can't think, there are so many things, so many people who have hurt me..._  
  
He didn't say another word. "What, Sherlock?"  
  
The greaser shook his head. "Nothing, thank you for bringing me back home."  
  
John nodded and put his fingers under Sherlock's chin, lifting his face a little and placing a fast kiss on the greaser's lips. "Sure. I'll, um, tomorrow we'll be back at the fair?"  
  
"Yes. We still have lots of people to investigate." The greaser said opening his door. "I'll see you tomorrow."  
  
"Okay." John nodded with a silly smile drawing on his face.  
  
Sherlock didn't smile back or anything. He seriously looked exhausted. He closed the car's door behind him and left.  
  
He started the car but stopped suddenly half a block away, almost running over someone. "...Jesus." John said breathing hard.  
  
"Hello, John." The man said with a smug smile on his face.  
  
"What the hell is your problem? Did you want me to kill you?"  
  
"I needed to talk to you." The man said calmly.  
  
"There are easier ways to reach me, you know?"  
  
"My brother is always with you. He can't know we're having this conversation. Can I get in the car?"  
  
"No." John said sharply, starting the car again.  
  
"John." Mycroft said stoically. "It's about my brother."  
  
John sighed. "Fine. Get in."  
  
"Thank you." Mycroft said stepping inside the car, occupying the seat his brothers had used just a moment ago."  
  
"What do you want?"  
  
"My brother..." Mycroft seemed to struggle with finding the right words. "Is very fond of you."  
  
John cleared his throat. "I don't think so, I mean we're just doing the history project."  
  
"John, do you really think I don't know about your relationship with Sherlock?" Mycroft asked seriously, rising his eyebrow.  
  
John felt he was going to faint. What if Mycroft saw the kids they just had? Oh my god that was _so_ embarrassing! "I... I don't know what you're talking about." John managed to say.  
  
"Oh please." Mycroft said as if it was the most stupid reply he had heard. "But that's not what I'm here for."  
  
John felt a bit relieved Mycroft had left the topic aside, but looked at the older Holmes with a quizzical face. "Oh. Then what are you here for?"  
  
"My brother is spending far too much time with you. I just need to make sure he is in the right hands."  
  
"Of course Mycroft, I... I would never do anything to harm Sherlock." John said, almost offended by Mycroft's implication.  
  
"Yes, I know that it's just... Who knows what goes around his little head?"  
  
John smiled fondly, thinking about the greaser. "Yeah, certainly not me, most of the time."  
  
"Me neither." Mycroft said shaking his head. "That's why I need you to make sure he'll be alright."  
  
"Huh?" John said surprised, trying to wrap his mind around the fact Mycroft Holmes had just pleaded him to do something.  
  
"Make sure he does fine. He doesn't get in any trouble."  
  
John snorted. "It's Sherlock, he _always_ gets in trouble." He answered with a small smile.  
Mycroft's mouth twitched up a bit, a weak but genuine smile, which was very, _very_ odd. "Yes. Just...make sure he won't harm himself, won't be too hard on himself. He tends to do that."  
  
John was about to tell him about what had happened that day and the day before, but he knew Sherlock would know and he didn't want any trouble with him. "...Yes." John said, nodding sharply.  
  
Mycroft looked intently, studying his face with the same expression his brother had pulled on him so many times, and John felt overexposed, as if he knew he was hiding something.  
  
"Fine." The older Holmes said after a while, reaching for his pocket to take out a card, which he handed to John immediately. "If anything happens, please John, give me a call. My brother tends to be very hostile when it comes about me, so I'm giving it to you."  
  
John looked at the car, a bit shocked. "This is your telephone number?"  
  
"My assistant's." Mycroft said, opening the door of the car. "Don't hesitate in calling me John, alright?"  
  
John nodded. "Yes, yes I will."  
  
"Thank you John." Mycroft said leaving the car. "I'd appreciate it you didn't mention any of it to my brother. Goodnight."  
  
"I won't. Goodnight."  
  
\----------------------  
  
"What did my brother tell you?" Sherlock said as soon as he saw John when the classes finished the next day.  
  
John felt a bit shocked about the sudden question. "Um... Hello?"  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Hi. Now what did he tell you?"  
  
"Nothing, Sherlock, I-"  
  
The look in Sherlock's eyes stopped him, he had to give him a lie, a fast one. He sighed. "Fine, he asked me if we were dating or not. It was all very awkward. Weirdest conversation I've ever had by the way."  
  
Sherlock eyed him warily for a moment, then his face relaxed a bit. "He didn't say anything else?"  
  
John shook his head. "No. Just that, I think he wanted to run away from it as much as me." He was getting good at this lying thing. Which was something bad but in this case was something really good!  
  
Sherlock looked at him in disbelief, but started laughing, shaking his head. "What did you tell him?"  
  
John smiled and took a look at the hall, which was positively empty. "That we _were._ " He winked at Sherlock.  
  
Sherlock smiled back. "Good, I'm sure he won't like that."  
  
John laughed as they left the school.  
  
This day at the fair was definitely busier than the day before for the workers, who barely had time to answer Sherlock's questions and explain them the threats they received. The greaser listened to each one attentively and seemed to be in a far better mode than the day before.  
  
John scratched notes in his notebook all the time, trying to collect as many testimonies as possible for further investigation. Even though they were very busy, the afternoon passed incredibly fast and when they realized, the sun was setting down, which meant even more people would go to the fair considering it was a Friday's night.  
  
"Maybe we should go. In some minutes this people won't even find the time to answer our questions. Plus, I don't want your mother to get too worried." Sherlock said hiding a smile.  
  
"Don't worry, as soon as I mentioned Sherlock her voice brightened and told me to have fun, not even saying at which hour I was coming back. She thinks you keep me safe." John said with a smile whle opening the cotton candy he had just bought.  
  
"Terrible assumption she made." Sherlock said smiling back.  
  
"Yeah, she has no idea how wrong she is." John said between laughs. After offering a piece of cotton to Sherlock -which the greaser predictably denied- he took a huge piece and started talking with his mouth full of pink candy. "We should have some fun." He said, looking at Sherlock.  
  
Sherlock lifted his finger and cleaned a bit of pink John had on the corner of his mouth, smiling. "That's very sexy." He joked.  
  
John laughed as he swallowed the cotton candy and looked at the greaser. "Sorry."  
  
"No, don't be. It's lovely. Now, what do you want to do?" Sherlock said with the smuggest smile on his face John had ever seen.  
  
"Not that, pervert!" John said with a smile. "I want to ride on the attractions!"  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on John! You're too old for that!"  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"I thought you were different from the rest of people who enjoyed such... Mundane things."  
  
"Oh, so I am mundane."  
  
"Apparently yes." Sherlock said with a shrug.  
  
"Come on Sherlock! Don't be a... How do you call it? Righto! A party-pooper!"  
  
Sherlock sighed, trying to hide the smile on his face. "Fine, go ahead, then, I'll wait here."  
  
"No, I want to go with you."  
  
The greaser's eyes widened. "With me?" He said incredulously.  
  
"Yes." John nodded with a smile so pretty it was incredibly hard for Sherlock to say no to.  
  
"No."  
  
"Please?"  
  
"No."  
  
"SHERLOCK!"  
  
"So what? Do you want me to gain a teddy bear and give it to you? Then ride on the tunnel of love and on the wheel of fortune while I pay the clowns to tell us some jokes? Did you lose your mind?" Sherlock said as if it was the most disgusting thing in the world.  
  
"That's exactly what I want." John said with a wink.  
  
"Then get yourself another boyfriend, because _I_ won't do that!"  
  
John snapped his head up instantly, surprised at Sherlock's choice of words. "What did you say?"  
  
Sherlock cleared his throat as soon as he noticed what he said. "Nothing."  
  
" _Oh my god!"_ John said with a chuckle. "You said boyfriend!"  
  
"No, I didn't!" Sherlock said defensively.  
  
"Yes you did!" John said smiling widely.  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Fine. I said it, so what?"  
  
"So nothing, love." John said with a wink.  
  
Sherlock smiled brightly at John. "Say it again."  
  
"NO!" John said laughing, throwing his hands in the air and doing the most Sherlock-like impression he could manage to do.   
  
In the end they didn't really ride anything, they sat on a bench while John ate cotton candy and Sherlock deduced people. John didn't recall being this happy before, and Sherlock didn't either.  
  
Well, that wasn't exactly true...


	23. Rip It Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It was about bloody time!”

Their plan for the rest of the next week was to go to the fair every afternoon and check if the threats had diminished or changed. They couldn't. School was far too busy. Sherlock was starting to spend too much time with John outside of it and looked at him studying, not doing any effort on any of his works.

John's mom loved Sherlock. Well of course she had no idea what was really happening between the two of them but his son finally had a friend and that was good enough. She welcomed Sherlock almost every day and she gave them ice cream and coffee and tea. John realized Sherlock didn't eat much, he already knew that, but he thought it was because of school or something, he just said eating slowed him down.

On Wednesday they were at John's house, Sherlock sitting on the bed, looking at John and John in his desk doing the biology paperwork. Sherlock laid on the bed with a sigh and said grumpily: "oh my god I'm bored!"

John lifted his face from the paper and turned to look at the greaser, who looked so incredibly hot laying like that, John stood silent staring at him until he realized Sherlock had said something and he probably was expecting a reply but God it was so hard to think when Sherlock was like that.

John cleared his throat and smiled. "...Well you should try to do some of your _own_ homework instead of looking at me studying."

"Homework is boring." Sherlock said still staring at the ceiling.

"Sherlock! You should try and make a little effort at least!"

"Mm... No. Not interested." He said sulkily.

"Not even chemistry?"

"Nope."

John chuckled. "Fine. Pity for you, your boyfriend loves studying so you'll have to get used to that."

Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed, staring at John. John felt a moment of panic, but looked at him in the eyes and Sherlock smiled, vanishing all of John's worries instantly. "Mm... I guess I'll have to." He said playfully.

John returned the smile and was about to turn when he felt Sherlock's hand on his shoulder turning him back, and he stared into those beautiful, irresistible, blue/green/gray eyes (he still couldn't figure out which color they were, just that they were perfect).

Sherlock leaned closer and they just stood like there, their foreheads touching and their mouths _almost_ touching and they just breathed one another and John couldn't help but smile and Sherlock leaned even closer and John could almost taste him and...

"Boys! Dinner's ready!" Mrs Watson knocked on the door.

They broke apart instantly and John took a deep breath. He nudged Sherlock. "We should really go before she opens the door." He said with a smile.

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. "Fine. But you owe me a kiss."

John winked at him and they opened the door almost in the same instant the house's door opened and John's father walked in.

Sherlock froze but Mr. Watson didn't see him, he walked directly towards the kitchen.

John froze as well. He reacted as soon as Sherlock said:"I'm out of here."

He reacted fast enough to grab Sherlock by the wrist, stopping him. "Oh no, you are not going anywhere."

"I am _not_ meeting your father!"

"Mom cooked dinner for you. You know how rude would be leaving?" John said lowly.

"You'll tell me tomorrow." Sherlock said walking again.

"Oh no. Sherlock!"

But Sherlock was already running downstairs when John's father stopped him. "Good night." He said sharply.

John saw it all from upstairs and covered his face with his hands. _Shit!_

Sherlock cleared his throat and hesitated, _actually_ hesitated before replying. "Good night, Mr. Watson. My name is Sherlock Holmes." He said extending his right hand.

John's father shook it and studied Sherlock up and down. "Are you here because of Harriet?" He said coldly.

"Oh no. I'm John's... Friend. We were assigned a project so we were doing it." If John didn't know Sherlock he'd say he was nervous.

"Oh really? A project of _what?"_ Mr. Watson said lifting an eyebrow.

"History." Sherlock said without hesitation.

Mr Watson nodded as soon as Mrs Watson came by her husband's side. "Oh, I see you've met Sherlock. He's joining us for dinner."

Mr Watson kept his eyes fixed on the greaser. Sherlock felt utterly awkward and said with a polite smile. "No, Mrs Watson, I was about to leave..."

"Nonsense, Sherlock! You're staying for dinner." She said with a smile.

Mr Watson looked at him suspiciously but nodded. "Dinner's ready. Grab a seat." He turned towards the dining room.

Sherlock looked up and found John staring. He threw a desperate glance at him but the boy merely shrugged. The greaser sighed and went to the dining room, John went downstairs and followed him. 

Of course John's father wouldn't like Sherlock, but Sherlock wasn't looking for approval anyway. He seriously didn't care. The problem was John did and throughout the whole dinner he kept smiling shyly at the greaser, like asking him _please be nice, please don't be your usual you._ And Sherlock certainly couldn't resist that, so he tried to be as polite and as charming as he could, but he hated it.

Mr Watson didn't say much during dinner, he didn't ask anything to Sherlock. There was no reason to do so. He was John's _friend._ No need to bombard him with questions.

Harry stared at Sherlock and really tried to suppress the laughter at seeing the greaser so _unlike_ him. Sometimes she managed it, sometimes she didn't and cracked up laughing. Mr Watson threw her a killing gaze every time and she looked away, cleared her throat and sat straight.

Sherlock kept thinking about how much the environment in the house had changed in the moment Mr Watson had walked in. With one glance he could see he was conservative, strict and tried to hide his alcoholism unsuccessfully. John had himself told him a few things about that, but it was completely different standing in front of him. He was an intimidating man, and although small, seemed very strong and very authoritarian. Mrs Watson must be really afraid of him, he thought.

During the whole dinner, Mr Watson kept flicking his eyes between Harry and Sherlock and looking seriously at them. Sherlock assumed he was thinking Harry was flirting with him! Which was actually a good thing, because that way he wouldn't suspect at all about John. If he found out... Things would definitely go to hell.

So yes, Harry's laughter only raised Mr Watson's suspicions and by the end of the dinner he was clearly considering the implications of his daughter dating a greaser. Sherlock saw that and started giggling. John nudged him and he shut up and said "Sorry."

Now _that_ convinced Mr Watson Sherlock had a crush on Harry. Which was fine by the way. If only he knew...

When dinner was over, Sherlock offered to wash the dishes but Mr Watson said sharply. "No. Harriet will wash them."

Harry turned to look at him surprised. "But, dad..." She pleaded.

Her dad looked at her and pointed towards the kitchen so she stood up with a sigh, picking up the plates while Sherlock tried to hide his disgust towards this man. He stood up and said goodbye avoiding Harry so she wouldn't get in any more trouble, and almost running, both John and Sherlock escaped the house, John sighing with relief as soon as the walked into the car.

"Well, that went... Surprisingly well." John said with a smile. He grabbed Sherlock's hand. "Thank you, I know it took a lot of effort from you to not be yourself." He placed a kiss on Sherlock's hand.

"Your father thinks I fancy your sister." Sherlock said directly and seriously.

Well, John wasn't expecting that. "I... _What?_ " He said confused.

"He thinks I fancy her and she fancies me. That's why he sent her to wash the dishes."

John didn't know how to answer that. He was still a bit shocked, but he guessed it made sense, Harry and Sherlock had been laughing at each other the whole dinner. "Um.. I...Well... Do you?" Was all John managed to say.

Now it was Sherlock's turn to look surprised. " _What?_ "

John cleared his throat. "...Because you know... She likes girls so..."

"Right. Clearly dinner affected you. Take me to my house right now."

John laughed. "Righto."

They arrived at Sherlock's house after a whole ride back in silence, it wasn't awkward or anything, it was actually pretty nice. Sherlock put his usual rock n' roll and that filled for the quietness. As soon as John stopped, he felt like he really _really_ had to ask. "Well, do you?"

"Do I what?" Sherlock asked confused.

"Do you fancy her?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh my god shut up now! Of course I don't!"

John smiled. "Hey, just wanted to make sure."

Sherlock leaned closer and whispered in John's ear. "...but you should look at her brother..."

John giggled. "Oh you fancy him then?"

"I definitely do." Sherlock whispered. "I remember that you owe me a kiss..."

"Do I?"

"Oh yes." Sherlock said placing a soft kiss into John's mouth. John cupped Sherlock's face with his hands and opened his mouth and the kiss turned definitely hotter. John reached for Sherlock's hair and ran his hands over it, while the greaser placed a hand on the boy's nape.

John turned his head a bit so he could gasp for air and Sherlock took this as an opportunity to kiss John's neck, and in that moment, John pretty much lost it and felt his legs getting weaker and weaker.

Okay he had to do something about it now. He placed his hands back in Sherlock's face and lifted him up a bit. "Sherlock, stop!"

Sherlock looked at John with a sigh. "Fine."

"Hey, we're taking it slow."

Sherlock cleared his throat. "...Sorry, I got carried away."

John shook his head. "It's okay, love. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

Sherlock nodded and leaned closer to place a chaste kiss on John. That until he heard a tap on the window.

Sherlock widened his eyes and broke the kiss. He turned his head shouting "FOR GOD'S SAKE!"

Mycroft was smirking and raised an eyebrow. "The car stopped in front of the house an hour ago, get out."

Sherlock opened the door heavily and said grumpily: "Shut up! That's not your problem!"

"It is! You are my brother!" Mycroft said completely calm.

"That never stopped you before did it?"

Mycroft was about to reply when his eyes turned to John who was blushing and unaware of the conversation the Holmes were having because he was _so_ embarrassed.

"I'd rather have this conversation in private, dear brother."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I have no intention of keep talking to you." He turned to look at John again who didn't look back at him. "I'll see you tomorrow, John." And he walked away.

John started the car and turned to look at Mycroft, who merely nodded, smiled mischievously and said: "Good night, John."

John nodded at a loss of what to say and ran away from there, ignoring the weird sensation he was feeling under his belly, and with his face extremely red.

 

\-------------------------

 

“It was about bloody time!”

Sherlock frowned. “What?”

“Well, I’m glad you finally worked things out.”Greg said, leaning on one of the lockers. John had just passed by and thrown a shy smile at Sherlock, which he replied quickly, trying to avoid noticing by anybody else.

But Greg did. Damn it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”Sherlock said defensively, avoiding Greg’s gaze.

“Oh, I think you know _exactly_ what I’m talking about Sherlock!”Greg said nudging the greaser.

Sherlock didn’t reply. He merely rolled his eyes.

“Care to fill me in?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, last thing I knew you were head over heels with Irene huh?”Greg said playfully, not removing that annoying smirk of his face and Sherlock thought if he kept talking he might actually punch him.

The greaser sighed. Greg was going to keep insisting anyway, so he might as well just say it. “I think we both know that was never going to work.”

“Oh, I think we both know that was absolutely fake.”

“It _wasn_ _’_ _t_ _–_ ugh why bother?”Sherlock said rolling his eyes once again.

Greg smiled. “So?”

Sherlock raised his voice with exasperation. “So what? I just told you!”

“Well, that’s not the interesting part, what happened with John?”

“ _Nothing._ ”

Greg puffed. “You are a shit liar.”

Sherlock lifted an eyebrow dramatically. “Go to freaking hell.”

“Come on, seriously. I know you roll on for boys, and that’s fine.” Greg assured Sherlock.

The greaser took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “I need a fucking cigarette.”

Greg laughed. “Well, since you won’t say a shit about it, let me tell you I’m glad you’re happy. You deserve it, seriously, you do. And he looks very happy too by the way.”

 “Stop talking now.”Sherlock said, he didn’t want to admit it but he honestly felt incredibly awkward having this conversation. Although he felt he could trust Greg completely, and surprisingly enough, he actually didn’t mind the fact Sherlock liked boys. Well, that was a first. And Greg certainly was a good friend. Perhaps the only person in the school besides John who actually gave a damn about Sherlock and though he had problems expressing it, he truly appreciated it. He looked at Greg and smiled slightly, mumbling lowly. “Thank you.”

Greg shrugged. “Sure mate. Now, did you mention something about a cigarette?”

Sherlock shook his head. “Can’t. Have history and Hikes will find out where I was. He already threatened me, next time he catches me smoking I’ll get in serious trouble. Not that I mind, but I want to avoid any future conversation with my brother.”

Greg giggled.

 

\--------------------------

 

After an almost endless week of exams and paper works, John and Sherlock finally managed to go to the fair on Friday. It was as crowded as two weeks ago, and almost as uneventful. Well, not really.

John had to admit the fair was cool. He like those kinds of things. Well, actually before this one he hadn’t been to a fair before, and as soon as he walked in he thought about the horrible idea he might actually be wasting the best years of his life. Of course he was, but that was definitely going to change.

They were able to talk to some of the workers at the fair, who mentioned they hadn’t received more threats since they had visited. John was relieved but for Sherlock there was something clearly suspicious in that, as if those threats were messages, or calls, or advices or spoilers?

He remembered the first message he read: _here starts the game, here comes the fair. Either leave or stay to play. Just one movement wrong and poof! You'll be gone._

He widened his eyes and turned to look at John, scribbling down on a piece of paper the message. John looked at him curiously with a frown. “What if the threats are not for them but for us?”

John looked unconvinced. He clearly hadn’t considered it, but it sounded somehow unlikely. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what if we were brought here for a reason? What if the game is for us?”

John shook his head. “I don’t think so, I mean how could they know it would be us? And what do they mean with the message?”

Sherlock sighed frustrated. “I don’t know. I don’t like not knowing.”

“You look tired.”

“I feel tired.”Sherlock said sitting on the soil.

“You have to get a bit of rest, Sherlock.”

“No. I’ve got to solve this case. But I don’t have a clue. I have absolutely no idea of who might be behind all of this. Shit, what is wrong with me? I haven’t solved a fucking case in ages!”Sherlock said pressing his fingers on his eyes.

“Hey, you’ll solve it.  I know you will.” John said sitting right next to them.

“You really, really don’t.”

“But I trust you will.”

Sherlock snorted and turned to look at John seriously. “Don’t make peoples into heroes, John. They don’t exist and if they would, I wouldn’t be one of them.”

If John felt somehow offended or demotivated by the comment he didn’t show it. He just squeezed Sherlock’s shoulder, stood up and offered his hand to pull up the greaser.

Almost as soon as they stood up, a voice behind them took them by surprise. "My, oh my-" The playful voice behind them said.

John frowned, his back still turned towards the stranger, not being able to identify who it was, but apparently Sherlock did, because almost instantly his eyes opened widely and he stood completely still, almost frozen.

The greaser opened his mouth in disbelief and then closed it, trying to wrap his mind around the voice produced behind him. He didn’t dare to turn, he couldn’t turn, he wouldn’t turn, he wouldn’t look, he would just close his eyes and stay there, waiting. He thought he had seen the last of him.

It had been so long since that night.

How was he supposed to reply? _Don_ _’_ _t leave me? I love you? Another pill?_ He shook the thoughts away from his brain violently, told himself he wasn’t that fucking 14-year old boy anymore and he should just get over with it.

It was so easy saying it, it was so difficult doing it.

He felt himself shivering. He gasped for breath, suddenly feeling as if his lungs couldn't take it anymore, like he had lost all the oxygen left of them. He tried to calm himself. He took a deep breath and turned. Bad idea. Terrible idea actually, but too late to regret it now.

"Sherlock Holmes." The boy in front of him said with the biggest smile on his face. Sherlock felt his heart stopped beating, just like that. He might be suffering a cardiac arrest. Or probably he just had forgotten how much he missed that face. Except he didn’t. But he did. But he didn’t.

"Victor." Was all he managed to say, trying to bring some peace into his brain which felt like it was about to collapse, while keeping a stoic expression on his face.

John turned, looking at Sherlock, frowning in confusion. He leaned closer to Sherlock and stared at the stranger, whose eyes seemed fixed permanently on the greaser, checking him up and down, up and down, fiercely.

"Victor?" John whispered. "Sherlock, who's Victor?"


	24. I Was The One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...Do I look happy?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay! This chapter was a tricky one to write! Once again, thank you so much for your support with the fic, you guys are lovely! x

Victor was tall, a bit taller than Sherlock. His hair was blond, blonder than John's, except for the amount of grease covering over his head, and his eyes were deep blue, but he looked a bit lost, as if he didn't know where he was standing. He was wearing a leather jacket, a white t-shirt and dark jeans. A smirk crossed his face barely covered by the cigarette he was holding. John could confuse him with absolutely any other greaser he had ever met. Except for...  
  
Except for the way his eyes trailed all over Sherlock's body over and over again since he turned.  
  
John clenched his fists as soon as he saw the way the man stared at Sherlock, who was still, frozen and his eyes were widened by surprise. He didn't answer John's question, he just turned to look at the boy as if he had entirely forgotten he was there and turned his head back to the greaser in front of them.  
  
Of course Victor fucking Trevor would be in a place like this. Of course he would. Why didn't he think of it? Or maybe he did?  
  
Sherlock took a deep breath and tried to focus on steadying himself. He hid his shaking hands inside his pockets and tried to block his mind from the thousand memories passing through it: the first kiss, the first time, the heartbreak, the healing, the heartbreak again, the pills...  
  
He could definitely use a pill right now. No, of course he didn't. Of course not.  
  
"Long time not seeing you, Sherlock." Victor said, taking the cigarette off his lips and tossing it to the ground.  
  
"Mhm..." Was all Sherlock could manage because at the moment he was dealing with so many things at the same time he thought his brain was actually going to explode.  
  
"I thought you were gone... Again." Victor kept looking at Sherlock up and down, up and down. John clenched his fists even harder and smiled, that creepy, terrifying smile only John Watson could pull out well.  
  
"I wasn't." Sherlock said, surprised at how perfectly normal his voice sounded.  
  
"How are you anyway?" Victor said with a smirk, instinctively licking his lip.  
  
Sherlock stared at Victor's mouth for longer than necessary and then ordered himself to look up because this was stupid and he was a fucking idiot and Victor Trevor was a bastard. He was going to leave, but his legs couldn't find the movement and his mouth couldn't find the voice. He stood there, in silence, still freezing, his eyes fixed on that boy he never thought he'd see again.  
  
Victor, of course, realized of all of it, and smiled, leaning closer to Sherlock. "I've missed you." He murmured.  
  
John realized it as well, and hell that was enough. He cleared his throat noisily and Victor widened his eyes to look at the young boy with glasses and a sweater who was standing right next to a frozen Sherlock.  
  
"John Watson. Hi." John said, lifting his eyebrow.  
  
Victor stared at John with a frown. Then his gaze turned back to Sherlock. "Oh, come on. Are you serious? This-" he said pointing at John "-is what you've changed me for?" He snorted.  
  
Sherlock blinked and turned to look at John as soon as Victor pointed at him, John tried desperately to find a clue in Sherlock's eyes. But the greaser only stared at him as if he had never known him, as if he was trying to know somebody he never met.  
  
John threw a small, sarcastic chuckle and moved a bit aside, shaking his head, anger and disappointment taking over him, memories of a certain day in which he was having his ass kicked in front of the lockers, so many months ago, flashing by like some sort of deja-vu.  
  
Sherlock turned his gaze back to Victor.  
  
Victor winked at Sherlock with a stupid smile, taking another cigarette out and offering it to the greaser, who took it immediately along with the match the man offered him.  
  
Sherlock took a long drag which seemed to fill his lungs again and exhaled a puff of smoke, closing his eyes. Victor smiled. "Beautiful."  
  
John certainly would have said something if he wouldn't be feeling so overtaken and paralyzed by the man standing in front of them. He looked powerful, overconfident and dominant. And John hated him.  
  
"I have something for you..." Victor searched in his pocket for a small bag and took it out, showing it to Sherlock, who loosened the hold of the cigarette and opened his mouth widely in shock. He licked his lips. God, it seemed like ages ago.  
  
Yet they hadn't changed: one blue, one yellow, two white ones, two purple ones.  
  
  
John leaned closer to Sherlock to take a better look to the package in front of him. "Sherlock, what's that?" He murmured.  
  
But Sherlock gave no answer, his eyes completely fixed on the pills.  
  
Victor smiled. "You stopped using didn't you? You miss them."  
  
"Using?" John said, turning his gaze between Victor and Sherlock.  
  
"Oh, right. I remember..." Victor said still holding the package in front of the greaser. "...the last time you took them."  
  
Sherlock couldn't react. His brain commanded his mouth to reply, to come up with something, but he couldn't, he simply couldn't. He couldn't find the strength to say no. He couldn't stop looking at them, he couldn't stop listening to the voice coming behind the pills, that voice which had captured him so many times. But not this time. But he couldn't freaking say it!  
  
"That was one hell of a fuck!" Victor said proudly.  
  
"Fuck?" John whispered, closing his eyes.  
  
Of course Sherlock would have had more experience than John. It was obvious. And John was curious about it. He wanted to ask Sherlock. But now, hearing it from that man who looked like the entirely opposite of what John was, he felt something inside him breaking apart.  
  
"...Maybe you don't remember it, because you were in cloud 9..."  
  
Pills. Using. Cloud 9. Not a difficult deduction, was it? John took a deep breath, trying to swallow down the nausea he was feeling all over his body.  
  
Sherlock remained silent. The Longest time he had ever been so silent while being awake since John knew him. John looked at him, it was as if he wasn't there anymore. But he knew he could still hear Victor's voice, because he closed his eyes, as if every part of him was shattering, as if his heart was being broken over and over again.  
  
And John felt he couldn't take it anymore. It was everything: it was the sex, it was the drugs, it was this man standing in front of them. He seriously thought he knew Sherlock Holmes, but he didn't know a single thing about him. He snorted. He wanted to leave, but he needed to stay. He needed to know, because Sherlock would never tell him.  
  
"Oh shit! I remember!" Victor yelled all of the sudden, taking both John and Sherlock by surprise. "How are you?"  
  
Sherlock raised an inquiring eyebrow.  
  
"...your car was a fucking wreck."  
  
And that,  _that_ was enough for Sherlock to react, and he snapped to reality, but not fast enough, not being able to stop the following words...  
  
"I mean, shit, were you really that fucking high? I remember I saw you taking pill after pill... But I never thought you'd run away. Lest of all you'd had that shit of accident."  
  
"Accident." John sighed, not being able to find his voice. He gasped for breath. He didn't have any. He couldn't think.  
  
He turned and started to walk away, not trusting his legs, knowing he was going to faint or something, but he couldn't stay there, he couldn't keep listening. He just couldn't.  
  
Sherlock blinked for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts together coherently, he looked at Victor in front of him, staring at the greaser expectantly. He heard someone's voice right next to him, pronouncing merely a word, but couldn't quite make up his mind about who it was coming from. It was John's, he thought a bit too late, and he turned to his right, but John was gone and then it was just him and Victor, and the pills standing halfway through them.  
  
"Come on, take them. Consider them... A gift from me." Victor said winking at Sherlock.  
  
"John!" Sherlock said suddenly after staring the pills for a while. He turned and found the boy laying on the back of one of the shops, frozen, still and quiet. He threw a glance to Victor and rushed towards John.  
  
"John!" He yelled again, coming closer to the boy.  
  
John mumbled something Sherlock couldn't quite understand, so he leaned closer, taking the boy's hand carefully. John flinched but didn't move away. "John..." The greaser said lowly this time, almost like a whisper, his eyes fixed on John, whose head was hanging, as he just tried to  _breath._  
  
When John turned his head up, his eyes were filled with tears, and Sherlock was so shocked of seeing him like that, so it was very easy for John to loose his hand from the greaser's hold, and then, after the pain was shown, came the rage.  
  
"LEAVE ME ALONE!" John yelled. "GET OUT OF HERE!"  
  
"John..." Sherlock said, his voice surprisingly calm, because he needed it to be calm. "Let me explain, please."  
  
"Fine, fine." John said with a nod, lifting his glasses and passing his arm through his face, wiping off the tears. "Why don't you start by telling me why you forgot to mention you were fucking  _drugged_ when the accident happened?"  
  
Sherlock shook his head, trying to be coherent. "I- I didn't know I had taken them, I didn't remember."  
  
John nodded again, panting. "Oh! So you were  _that_ high you didn't even remember you were high?" He said with a snort.  
  
Sherlock blinked, looking down. "I- I remembered some days ago, and I was going to  _tell_ you, but..."  
  
"But you didn't."  
  
Sherlock shook his head. John tried to keep his breath steady, but he couldn't.  
  
"Jesus... Sherlock, I blamed my sister! I kept telling her it was all her fault, I kept defending you, but you, you lied to me." John's last words came almost like a whisper, trying to avoid the knot in his throat.  
  
"I didn't lie to you." Sherlock said lowly.  
  
"You told me that you hadn't drunk that day! I remember! I remember that's what you said and I believed you! But you forgot to fucking tell me you were on drugs!" John threw his hands in the air.  
  
"Because I knew you would react like this! I knew it! And I couldn't let that happen!"  
  
John laughed, a bitter, painful laugh. He shook his head and looked down. "Well, how did that work out?"  
  
Sherlock didn't reply.  
  
"I would have chosen a thousand times to hear it from you than from..." John turned to glare at Victor. "...your boyfriend."  
  
"He isn't... We aren't..." Was all Sherlock managed to say.  
  
"Shit, Sherlock stop hiding things from me! Just stop it!" John said in another impulse of rage.  
  
"We aren't together anymore." Sherlock said taking a deep breath.  
  
"And who exactly is he?" John said trying to calm himself a little.  
  
Sherlock stood silent for a moment, thinking of what to say, but he didn't come up with something to make it better. He couldn't talk about Victor Trevor, he simply couldn't. "I'm sorry, I- I can't. It's better for you not knowing."  
  
John passed his tongue through his teeth. He nodded again. "Fine. Fine. I hope the two of you be  _very_ happy together." He said, turning to walk away, but a hand in his wrist pulled him back.  
  
"John don't. Please, don't." Sherlock pleaded, knowing he wouldn't be able to stand it this time.  
  
"Let me go." John said with tears on his face.  
  
"No. You can't leave, you just... You can't. I... I need you." Sherlock's voice was desperate.  
  
John shook his head. "I can't do this. I can't look at you right now. I-" He looked down and took a deep breath. "I. Defended. You. I thought my sister was a murderer! And I stood by you! And I called her an alcoholic and I felt I hated her for everything she did to you!" John said through the tears.  
  
"I swear I wanted to tell you John, I just... I didn't know how. I- please. Don't. Please." He didn't even know what he was saying anymore.  
  
"I...can't." John said shaking his head, his voice shaky.  
  
Sherlock leaned closer to put their foreheads together and John didn't back away. He knew he had to, but he didn't want to. "John, don't leave, please. I mean this can't be it. We made it through everything, I just.... You keep me right."  
  
John breathed for a moment in there, staying silent. Finally he found the strength to speak up again. "It's always been the same thing, over and over, Sherlock. I will always see the façade with you."  
He said sharply, moving away from the greaser.  
  
Sherlock grabbed him by the wrist. John shook himself out. "LET ME GO!"  
  
"NO!" Sherlock yelled. "I won't, I can't!"  
  
"You should have thought about it before." John said lowly through his tears.  
  
And Sherlock didn't make any other movement to get him back. He felt weak, as if he had lost all of the strength in his body. He wasn't going to fight. Not anymore. It was better like this, both of them away from each other. Of course it was.  
  
He kept his eyes on the silhouette which slowly vanished into the night, trying to fight the tears that were forming on his eyes. John had changed everything from the very first day, from that first time he was so intrigued by him the only logical reaction he found was to hate him.  
  
That seemed like it had been ages ago, but it only had been four months! And Sherlock couldn't understand how someone became such a huge part of his life in so little time.  
  
They had fought against all odds. They had come a long path together, but now, it just seemed unavoidable, unfixable. John was never going to forgive him, and he knew it in the instant he looked at the boy's eyes filled with tears. They both knew. And there was not much to do now.  
  
After Victor had left him, he had understood that clearly caring for someone wasn't an advantage. So this was for the best. His pained expression turned into a more stoic one, and he remained calm, even though he felt his body breaking inside.  
  
Victor came back. He leaned closer to Sherlock and the greaser felt nothing, his mind too occupied at the moment to be aware of the man.  
  
When Sherlock looked back at him, the pain turned into rage. "This is all your fucking fault!"  
  
Victor was confused, and stared at the greaser for a long moment. "What is my fault?"  
  
"Everything is always your fucking fault. Haven't you done enough to me? Now you've fucking destroyed the only good thing I had left in my life!" Sherlock said exasperated.  
  
"What are you talking about?" Victor frowned, and then his eyes widened. "Oh... You can't possibly be serious with that ankle-biter!"  
  
"That's not your fucking business!" Sherlock yelled.  
  
"Oh, I think it is, because see, I-" he leaned closer and Sherlock could feel the scent of that cologne he had learned to love and the faint smell of alcohol and he was suddenly back to being the young small boy, clinging to Victor for life. "-am very,  _very_ possessive about my pets." He placed his fingers under Sherlock's chin, lifting the greaser's head slightly.  
  
_Pet? Pet. PET._ Shit. How he ever felt something towards this man different from absolute repugnance was a mystery to him. How did he ever allow himself to become someone's  _pet?_ He stood still thinking, when he realized Victor's lips were close, way too close and the smell of cologne and all those times before... But not anymore. He wasn't falling this time.  
  
Victor took the small package out of his pocket and tossed it into Sherlock's. The greaser only looked down, barely aware of what Victor had given him.  
  
He pushed Victor back. "I am NOT your fucking pet!"  
  
Victor stared at him for a moment, surprised. "Oh. So you prefer to be that nerd's pet?"  
  
"John would never,  _ever_ think of me as his pet!" Sherlock's heart filled with pain as soon as he mentioned John's name. He had to find him, make things better. But he had a parasite to deal with first.  
  
"What else could he think of you? That's all you are."  
  
Sherlock didn't know which impulse motivated him. He didn't feel anything in particular. It was like an instinct, a sudden rush from all over his body, finally joining together. So many things he had kept for so many time, finding a way out. Without hesitation, without thinking, without even bothering, he lifted his arm and punched Victor right in the nose, whose head leaned back from the force of the impact.  
  
"Fuck you! Fuck you and everything you did to me! Did you seriously think I was going to come back crying for you? Oh please, I no longer find excitement in helping lost causes. Because that's all you are. A. Fucking. Mess. And you won't drag me with you, not this time. I would have followed you everywhere. But that was before. Before I opened my eyes and realized you were actually the worst curse I could have ever asked for! And I'm tired of being haunted by your memory. I'm fucking exhausted. So this ends right now. Get away from me and don't ever,  _ever_ come back. I don't want to see you again, hear your voice again or have anything else to do with those fucking pills! Go and find another boy to fuck, but don't think about me ever again. Ever again." Sherlock exploded.  
  
Victor stared at Sherlock quietly and still, his hand on his nose covered with blood. He lifted an eyebrow defiantly and turned his back at the greaser. Last thing Sherlock heard was a playful  _"You'll come back..."_ Sounding from the distance and he flinched, repelling absolutely anything related to Victor Trevor.  
  
As soon as the man was far enough, Sherlock leaned into the wall and sat on the floor, closing his eyes and trying not to think about John, but God, he needed him, he really did. He didn't know how, but he needed to find a way to fix things with him.  
  
He stood up decidedly almost as soon as the rain started to fall.  
  
\------------------------  
  
John closed the car door noisily, feeling disgusted of being on it. He pictured the image of the accident and closed his eyes because it was all too much. Little raindrops started kicking on his window, and he just  _felt_ the noise. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, shutting his mind out, trying to ignore the stupid pain he was feeling inside. All he could hear was his ragged breath and the rain, which was quickly developing into a storm.  
  
And in that moment, he broke down.  
  
The first thing he felt was a tear tracing its place all over his face and landing on his lap, doing a similar sound to the ones the raindrops were creating, then came another one and another one. After a while he couldn't quite distinguish between which sound was made by the rain and which one by his tears.  
  
And he felt like a complete idiot once again.  
  
For believing in Sherlock, for trusting him, for caring about him, for crying for him, for defending him, for fighting with him, for kissing him, for hugging him, for loving him, for-  
  
The door opened in a rush, and before John could even think, a soaking wet Sherlock was already getting inside the car. The boy blinked in surprise for a moment, and then forced himself to act as natural as possible. He calmed himself down and asked lowly. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"We need to talk." Sherlock said, turning to look at John seriously.  
  
"I- I... What?" John asked seriously confused.  
  
"John..." Sherlock said after taking a deep breath, John could tell he was shivering by the way his shoulders moved involuntarily. "...I'm sorry, but I can't let you go. Not like this."  
  
"Sherlock, I just... I can't. I can't look at you right now, I don't believe you, I... You lied and lied." John argued calmly, his voice quaking, while he clenched his hands into fists.  
  
"I know, I know, it's just... I didn't want you to know all those things about me, I knew you would run away."  
  
"I'm not running away!" John said, rage coming back to him. "And so what? You expected to be with me without me knowing a thing about you? Did you seriously think that was going to work? Did you seriously think I was that stupid?" He chuckled lightly. "You know what? Maybe I am. For believing in you."  
  
Sherlock looked down and shook his head. "I would never think that of you. You know that's not who I am."  
  
"I DON'T KNOW WHO YOU ARE!" John yelled throwing his hands in the air, panting. "Every time I think I'm getting to know you, to unveil the mystery of who Sherlock Holmes is, you come out and do things like these!"  
  
"I... What you got to know about me, that's who I am, John, I am a better person when I'm with you, you know that." Sherlock said almost desperately, reaching for John's hand, but as soon as the boy felt the touch, he moved his hand. Sherlock sighed.  
  
"I know  _nothing_ about you. Nothing." John replied coldly, with an icy tone which sent shivers all over Sherlock's body.  
  
Sherlock leaned forward and joined their foreheads together, and in that moment John lost all the strength he had gained a few seconds ago, and he started crying silently, letting his tears roll down his face and hoping Sherlock wouldn't notice through the dim light coming through the window from the fair.  
  
"Don't ask me to let you go, John. 'Cause I won't do it. I can't."  
  
"Just... Leave me alone, just..." John shook his head and Sherlock pulled his hands up to cup John's face.  
  
"No! This can't be over." John opened his mouth to reply but Sherlock cut him off. "And don't come up with 'there was never a this' because you know there was much more than just a 'this'"  
  
John fell silent because that was exactly what he was going to say. Sherlock leaned even closer, as if it was even possible to be physically closer and John didn't pull away.  
  
"I'm sorry, I... I don't know what else to say, I don't know how to fix it, how to make it better. This is all I have to offer." Sherlock murmured closing his eyes, his lips almost touching John's.  
  
John kept crying and hating himself for it. "There's nothing left to do, Sherlock."  
  
Sherlock shook his head. "There's always something."  
  
"Not with us, not anymore." John said, tears still rolling down his face.  
  
And then Sherlock kissed him, slowly, tenderly as if he was afraid John was going to break, which was kind of what John was feeling inside, like every part of his body was collapsing to leave room for nothing else but pain and disappointment. He kept crying, and the kiss was wet, because Sherlock's face was covered with raindrops and John's face covered with tears, and the rain kept falling and falling and it should have been the perfect kiss but it wasn't.  
  
Because it felt like a goodbye.  
  
When they parted, Sherlock kept their foreheads together but all John could do was shake his head. "I can't, Sherlock, I can't."  
  
"Please, just please..."  
  
"No." John said with a gasp of breath, almost inaudible.  
  
"John..."  
  
"NO!" John said, louder than he intended to be, but Sherlock didn't back away, didn't flinch, didn't move, didn't reply.  
  
After a moment of silence in which all they could hear was each other's breaths and the rain hitting the car, John said lowly. "Get out, Sherlock."  
  
Sherlock shook his head and shut his eyes closed. "No, I can't, this can't..."  
  
"Sherlock, I said get out."  
  
"NO!"  
  
"GET OUT!" John yelled and his voice broke, tears running through his face again. "Just... Just leave alone once and for all. I can't do this, I can't do this right now."  
  
Sherlock moved aside and his face looked different, as if a sudden rage had invaded him. "You aren't doing anything, you are running away, because that's what you always do!"  
  
"Oh excuse me then, you're right! So you almost killed my sister and decided not to tell me absolutely anything about your fucking past but this is  _all_ my fault because Sherlock bloody Holmes never makes a freaking mistake in his life! Well, let me tell you something, you've made too many mistakes, enough for a lifetime as far as I can see. And one of them was ever talking to me." John said coldly, surprisingly coldly, which was weird since he felt exactly the opposite inside.  
  
Sherlock fell silent, shocked, trying to understand every word John had just said, trying to make sense, trying to convince himself the boy hadn't said all of the things he said.  
  
But he had.  
  
The greaser forced himself to say something,  _anything,_ any freaking thing would be better that the uncomfortable silence that was settling between them, covered only by the raindrops and John's panting, as he tried to cover his anger or his sadness, Sherlock couldn't tell. "You're right, talking to you was one huge mistake." He said lowly, bitterly. "Sad thing for you, talking to me was the only exciting thing you ever did."  
  
John stared at him, then pointed at his face. "Look at me, do you think I'm excited? Do I look happy?"  
  
Sherlock stood silent again, looking at John's eyes, not knowing what to reply because this was all his freaking fault but the only way he had to defend himself from the truth was blaming John and suddenly all those great feelings turned into destructive feelings and he just wanted to yell at him. There wasn't anything to be done, at least not for now.  
  
This was different, the way John looked at him, with that pained expression, the way he tried to hold back the tears... He had never experienced anything like this before. They had fought but this was too serious and it was almost obvious there was no way out of it. There was no fixing, no turning back. John wasn't Victor, John wasn't just going to change his mind because of a fuck, John wasn't going to change his mind at all. It was a lost cause, they were always a lost cause, Sherlock thought.  
  
And made peace with it.  
  
Well, as much peace as he could. At that moment he accepted it. And somehow, he craved for it, he longed to get out, to leave forever and never face John Watson ever again. Leave all of it behind, as if it had been some sort of dream/nightmare/dream/nightmare. It had to be definite, sharp and straight to the point. He looked into John's eyes and he just... Felt it, in so many ways, extending all over his body, and it came out as if finally he was rebelling against everything that had ever happened throughout his entire life. He opened the car's door and mumbled: "I hate you." He got out, closed the door and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things to finish this chapter:  
> 1\. I'm sorry! But I love angst and a bit of angst is always necessary to make things more exciting, don't you think? ;)  
> 2\. Don't worry, there is a happy ending! Don't let this kind of chapters bring you down!
> 
> and a little p.s. Never, never, NEVER hesitate in giving me feedback about the story! What did you think? Did you like it? Did you hate it? Did you laugh? Did you cry? I love reading your comments and they help me improve my writing and make the story better, so comments are always, ALWAYS welcome. Chapter 25 will be up soon, I promise :3


	25. A Thousand Miles Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I hope the topic of John Watson doesn't come up so you don't lose your temper again."

  
_I hate you._ John heard the words distantly, far, far away from him. He blinked, stood up hurriedly and realized he had fallen asleep. It was 2 a.m. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. It was the third time exhaustion had taken him that night. He didn't want to sleep because he kept dreaming those three words over and over again.  
   
And the thing he hated the most about it was that it had _not_ been a dream. He had arrived home six hours ago, without saying a single word to anyone. He closed himself in his room and laid on the bed. He didn't know if he cried or if he screamed in rage or if he stood still and silent. He remembered falling asleep at some point, he remembered waking up three times.  
   
Every nightmare was different: the first time Sherlock said it on the car, just as it had really been. The second time, John was crashing him while carrying his books and finding the greaser looking at him with a frown and saying the words with the exact same coldness he had heard them. The third time they were sitting on the bench while Sherlock read a book, and he just...said it. Just like that.  
   
All three times had meant so much for John back then, but now Sherlock hated him and it meant nothing anymore and Sherlock could go to freaking hell except John didn't really want him to.  
   
His head was a mess. He tried, he _really_ tried not to picture Sherlock and Victor, but he couldn't help it. He pictured a young Sherlock taking the pills, fucking Victor and driving away. And then his sister...  
   
John felt sick. He hadn't talked to Harry, hadn't even looked at her when he arrived. He couldn't face her now, couldn't bring himself to apologize, to admit he had been an idiot, the biggest idiot in the world.  
   
He looked at the clock again and groaned, opened his closet, took out some pj's and put them on, getting under the blankets and looking up to the ceiling. He didn't want to sleep, not anymore, because for once, sleeping was actually _worse_ than being awake. He sighed and looked up, and the hours passed and passed and passed. And he stood numb and half-asleep.  
   
Harry's voice woke him up. She knocked on the door and softly said: "John, are you awake?"  
   
John opened his eyes as soon as he heard her. Then he closed them down again, trying to swallow the knot on his throat. "Mmm... Yes."  
   
"Can I come in?"  
   
John took a deep breath and tried to sound as reassuring as he could. "Sure."  
   
She opened the door with the softest smile on her face. She knew, she definitely knew. He smiled weakly at her. "Hey, are you okay?"  
   
John sat up and shook his head, looking down.  
   
"What- What happened, John?" She said sitting on the edge of the bed.  
   
"Nothing. I just... I..." He trailed off, he had no idea what else to say.  
   
"Sherlock?" She said lifting an inquiring eyebrow.  
   
John flinched as soon as he heard the name. But he remained silent.  
   
Harry stood up quickly. "I'm going to kick his ass."  
   
"No! No! Harry! Stop!" She stopped in front of the door. "No. Please, don't make things worse."  
   
She sat again breathing heavily and looked at him seriously. "Did he do anything to you? Tried anything? Forced you to do something you didn't want to do?"  
   
John understood what she meant with every statement. "Jesus, Harry, no. No, it's just-" he swallowed.  
   
"Just what, John?"  
   
"I... Realized he wasn't like I expected him to be. I didn't know him, not really. I didn't know a single thing about him and I just... I thought... But I'm not... And that...."  
   
"What?" She said, frowning in confusion.  
   
John sighed and closed his eyes. "I don't really want to talk about it."  
   
Harry nodded even though her brother couldn't see her. "But, did you break up?"  
   
Of course they had, of course, things had been left crystal clear, yet John didn't want to assume that truth just yet, he didn't want to think about it. Even though it was stupid and pretty obvious they were done he didn't want to _face_ that truth. Because _what if?_ No. Of course not. "Yes. Pretty much." He said with a shrug.  
   
"I'm going to kick that boy's ass!" She said, standing up again and John had to stand up too to catch her before she ran away.  
   
"Harry! I mean it! Leave it like that! You don't even know where he lives!"  
   
She turned to look at John. "Fine. Fine. But I did warn you, John. I told you not to get involved with that greaser."  
   
John looked down. "I know, I just...I couldn't help it."  
   
She pulled him in for a hug while he tried to stop the tears that were forming in his eyes. He wanted to tell her he was sorry, he wanted to tell her the accident had been Sherlock's fault, he wanted to tell her he was never going to see the greaser again, that he needed some advice about it, but he couldn't bring himself up to it. He stood in there, numb, not being able to articulate another word.  
   
\------------------------------  
   
"Sherlock, dear, your brother is here! I made you breakfast!" He heard Mrs. Hudson's voice, followed by a knock on the door.  
   
He sighed and rubbed his eyes. He hadn't slept at all last night, he stood there, looking at the ceiling, then at the windows, then at the clock. He was exhausted and he didn't want to do anything, lest of it all facing Mycroft. He grabbed a pillow nearby and tossed it towards the door.  
   
Mrs. Hudson heard it and knocked again. "Sherlock Holmes, your brother is here and we are having breakfast, so have the decency of opening your door and coming downstairs just to say 'hello'..."  
   
Sherlock didn't want to come down but wanted Mrs. Hudson to shut up. Reluctantly, he stood up and opened the door, ruffling his hair.  
   
"Good morning, dear!" Mrs. Hudson said looking him up and down. "...Sherlock, you fell asleep with your clothes on again? I've told you to put on pajamas!"  
   
Sherlock looked at her seriously. "I didn't sleep."  
   
She smiled and leaned a bit closer to take a look at the room, but Sherlock blocked the view. "Oh!" She whispered. "Is John in here?"  
   
Sherlock sighed at the mention of John's name while he felt his heart breaking inside a little. But he remained stoic and barely rolled his eyes. "No." He said sharply, walking past her, towards the stairs.  
   
"But how are you guys going? He looked very happy the night he stood in here..."  
   
Sherlock kept walking, his back turned against her, he really, _really_ didn't want to talk about it.  
   
"...you make a _lovely_ couple!" She said clasping her hands together.  
   
Sherlock kept walking. "Shut up, Mrs Hudson." He said lowly.  
   
"...so much better than any other boy I've seen you with before."  
   
_Any other?_ "Mrs Hudson..." He said as a warning for her to shut up.  
   
"...this boy is so lovely and smart and adorable... Oh Sherlock he is perfect for you!"  
   
Okay Sherlock needed to something about it now. He turned and felt a sudden rage and disgust with himself and had no one else to pour it into so he just looked at Mrs Hudson and yelled. "STOP TALKING NOW! JUST SHUT UP AND LEAVE ME ALONE!"  
   
Mrs Hudson looked at him with a frown and when he came back to himself, he realized they had arrived to the dining room and Mycroft was staring at him from the other end of the table, quirking an eyebrow.  
   
Sherlock sighed and turned to look at Mrs Hudson. "I'm sorry, I'm very sorry, Mrs Hudson."  
   
She took a deep breath. "It's alright dear, but if you do it again, I'll slap you in the face." She said with a small smile.  
   
Sherlock chuckled weakly and turned to look at his brother. Mycroft kept his eyes fixed on him as they sat. "Hello, brother."  
   
"Hello, fattie. I hope Mrs Hudson had made us some cake."  
   
"I hope the topic of John Watson doesn't come up so you don't lose your temper again."  
   
And well, that hell of a comeback left Sherlock speechless, he looked down, swallowed and barely mumbled "I hope not."  
   
"What happened? Did you realize he wasn't a drug dealer so he didn't match your style?" Mycroft said sourly.  
   
Sherlock stood up from the table immediately and retreated to his room without saying another word, feeling a knot on his throat, thinking that maybe his brother would be right for once.  
   
\-----------------------  
   
"...Hello."  
   
The man turned and looked down. His eyes scanned him up and down.  
   
It was Saturday evening, and things were starting to get moving. He knew the man would be busy and it would be a good excuse for a fast talk, a warrant he would keep his answers short. That considering he would be willing to answer...  
   
The man smiled widely. "I have told you a hundred times, haven’t I?" He said walking around Sherlock. “You will always come back to me. _Always._ You belong to me and you know it.”  
   
Sherlock cleared his throat, feeling all of the sudden incredibly tiny. "I...Um... I'm here to talk to you."  
   
"Of course you are.” Victor kept his smile still. Then his face fell still again. He produced a small package from his pocket. "I remember how much you loved the purple ones…”  
   
"What?" Sherlock asked confused, his mind too tangled in the conversation to understand what Victor was referring to.  
   
“I bet you already took the ones I gave you last night and now you want more. You _always_ wanted more. And God, I loved giving you more.”            
   
Sherlock had completely forgotten about the pills which were still on his jacket. _Thankfully_ , he thought to himself. He cleared his throat and instinctively licked his lips, shaking the thought away from his mind. “I’m not here for that.”  
   
Victor raised an eyebrow, looking all of the sudden surprised. “Oh, so you’re here to see me. Good.”He smiled slightly.  
   
“Yes. But not for the reasons you think, don’t consider yourself that lucky.”  
   
“Lucky?”He pointed at his nose. “Seeing you again is the most painful thing that has happened to me in a long while. I might actually need surgery.”  
   
“You deserve it.”Sherlock said with a shrug. He didn’t know why, but he was feeling much more comfortable with the conversation, like he had some power over this, like he wasn’t a child desperate for love anymore.  
   
Well, not for Victor at least.  
   
He shook away the invading thought of John Watson in his mind. He was here for the work. Work was all he had. Work has always been.  
   
“Although-”Victor said leaning closer to whisper into Sherlock’s ear and the greaser’s eyes widened and the strength he had gained vanished. “I did love to see your tough side…I had never seen it before. You’ve changed.”  
   
Sherlock smelled Victor’s hair and oh god he had missed that smell so much. He closed his eyes, clenched his fists and told himself he was here for the fucking _work_ and yes, he had _changed,_ which meant he didn’t need this idiot anymore.  
   
He shoved Victor a bit. He shook his head, fighting the blush which was threatening to invade his cheeks. “I’m not up for that either. Not anymore. I think I made myself clear enough last night.”  
   
Victor shrugged. “Then what do you want me for? Hurry up! It’s Saturday and it’s going to be a busy afternoon!”He said a bit grumpily, knowing Sherlock wasn’t going to give him anything he wanted.  
   
Sherlock went on detective mode, it was the only way it would ever work out with Victor, the only way to put his feelings (except he didn’t definitely didn’t have any). “I’m doing an investigation-”  
   
Victor snorted. “Oh, please! You? An investigation?”  
   
Sherlock felt offended. He raised an eyebrow and replied seriously at Victor’s mocking tone. “Yes. An investigation, did the drugs make you deaf?”  
   
Victor smirked and Sherlock felt utterly disgusted.  
   
“Anyway, people who work here at the fair have been receiving threats and they are scared. I was wondering if you had received any of those of know anyone who might had left them.”  
   
Victor stared blankly ahead and Sherlock rolled his eyes. Finally he frowned. “No, not that I remember. I haven’t received anything, and I haven’t seen anything suspicious.”  
   
“Alright, that’s all I wanted to know. Thank you.”Sherlock said turning his back at Victor, but his wrist was suddenly caught and he had to turn back. Of course Victor would do something like this, Sherlock knew that, the question was if he _wanted_ that.  
   
A part of him maybe did.  
   
Another part felt sick at the touch.  
   
He didn’t know which part to pay attention to.  
   
He stared into Victor’s eyes. He couldn’t quite tell, but did he look sad? He could swear he caught a glimpse of utter bitterness behind that fixed look. He thought about it for a second, remembered the Victor Trevor he met, the Victor who had been his first friend, the Victor before drugs, the brilliant Victor who only demanded a bit of attention from his parents and was in need of a friend without even knowing it. During that short moment, he could almost see that Victor. And he felt so sorry for him. This Victor, whoever he was now, wasn’t happy, he was helpless.  
   
Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. Victor spoke up then. “Are you leaving now?”  
   
“Yes.”Sherlock said trying to sound nonchalant.  
   
“When was the last time you fucked with someone?” _Oh look! Bastard Trevor is back!_ Sherlock thought to himself and whatever he had felt for a second, he wasn’t feeling it anymore.  
   
“That doesn’t concern you, does it?”  
   
“Oh, I think it does.”Victor said possessively, hunger hiding behind his voice tone. “See, I can’t picture you and that nerd boy you brought with you yesterday together. But you and I, we just… _fitted._ And you don’t know how much I’ve-”  
   
“I don’t care, Victor. Not anymore.”Sherlock said sharply, wincing at the memory of him and John.  
   
“Have you missed me?”  
   
Sherlock didn’t know how to reply to that. He really didn’t. Did he? No. _No._ The greaser leaned closer to Victor and could see his pupils dilated, he retreated seriously. “How many pills have you taken today, Victor?”  
   
Victor looked down and shrugged. “I don’t know. A lot, probably. They don’t work anymore.”  
   
“Stop doing that to yourself.”Sherlock said in a moment of weakness. He wanted to help Victor, he really did. “You’re killing yourself slowly and painfully!”  
   
Victor threw his hands in the air. “It blocks away the pain! Can’t you see that? Wasn’t that why you kept taking them?”  
   
Sherlock flinched. “It doesn’t work, Victor. It will just make you feel more miserable. It. Never. Works!”  
   
“But…I stop feeling and that’s better than feeling anything at all.”  
   
Sherlock stood quiet.  
   
Victor seemed to come back to himself, he straightened his leather jacket and brushed a comb through his hair, taking a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it. “Who do you think you are to come in here givin’me orders?”  
   
“I’m the only person who has ever given a shit about you.”  
   
“Well and how did that work?”Victor said seriously and a bit bitterly.  
   
“Yeah. You’re right. It didn’t. We ruined each other. We were toxic…”  
   
“We were nothing.”Victor cut Sherlock sharply.  
   
Sherlock knew that already, so he didn’t feel anything when Victor reminded him of it. “Sure. Then just take the advice from an ex-addict.”  
   
“I don’t think you’re an ex-anything. You’re just too afraid of trying them again.”  
   
“And that has worked well enough.”Sherlock nodded and stared into Victor’s eyes seriously, they looked full of resentment. “Stop killing yourself, Victor. And stop trying to drag me down with you. Goodbye.”  
   
“See you later, Sherlock. As always.”Victor said playfully.  
   
Sherlock sighed and turned to go back to his house. He didn’t want to think about anything, not now.  
   
\-------------------------  
   
John had barely gotten any sleep at all during the weekend. He tried to occupy his mind with anything that could come up, but nothing seemed to calm the pain which was growing from inside his body.  
   
He hadn’t ever lived anything remotely like this feeling before. This was completely new. Sometimes he just sat and stared into nothingness, remembering, and he felt he was going to collapse piece by piece.  
   
It was utterly stupid feeling like this because of someone else.  
   
For someone who didn’t deserve it.  
   
For someone who didn’t deserve the smallest, tiniest bit of empathy from John.  
   
It was so easy saying it, so hard doing it.  
   
He actually felt like he knew Sherlock Holmes. He believed in him, he trusted him, he loved him, he…  
   
The bell rang. Fucking history. Fucking bloody history.  
   
He entered the classroom with a sigh. He felt exhausted, every inch of his body claiming for sleep, for relief. He fixed his eyes on his notebook, avoiding everyone and everything, not wanting to face a particular someone…  
   
He didn’t know how he would react when he saw Sherlock again. But he knew it wouldn’t be good. It would be anything but good.  
   
The greaser walked in few minutes later and John just stared into the notebook as if the world’s fate depended on it. He could tell from the corner of his eye by the way Sherlock walked, he was even more exhausted than John.  
   
He didn’t look at him either. He just sat behind, not pushing, not kicking, not punching, not yelling. Now _that_ worried John the most. The boy closed his eyes and sighed, pain overcoming him.  
   
The teacher entered to the classroom and they spend the next two hours in silence, that until…  
   
Before the bell rang in which seemed for John like the most eternal two hours he had lived in his entire life, Hikes took out the history _fucking_ projects’drafts.  
   
John took a deep breath. Of course, of all dates he had to choose this particular day to deliver the projects.  
   
_Sherlock Holmes and John Watson._ Hikes called and shit, John got up angrily to receive it because he didn’t want to hear his freaking name right next to Sherlock’s anymore. He took the paper from Hikes, looked at the grade and felt a sudden relief, they did make a good pair when it came to this work. He let his eyes wander around Sherlock, just for a moment.  
   
The greaser was scribbling something down on his notebook hurriedly, like when he used to read books and lose himself in another world. His hair was ruffled, not quite as carefully combed as usual. His hands moved fast and steady. He was decidedly not looking up. Deliberately not looking up, John thought.  
   
He stood in front of Sherlock’s seat while the greaser _still_ didn’t look up because of freaking course, as always he had to make things 100% more difficult because that was what he always did. John took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He wasn’t going to be as childish.  
   
“Sherlock…”He mumbled coldly.  
   
Sherlock closed his eyes, feeling goose bumps all over his body at hearing his name coming from John. He didn’t want to look up, he didn’t want to stare into John’s eyes, he didn’t want to see his face ever again.  
   
Almost all the class had already left and Sherlock still didn’t look up. Hikes came to them with a smile on his face. “Well done, yours was the best draft. Keep up the good job.”  
   
John nodded courtly with a smile on his face, then he turned to look at Sherlock again, noticing he hadn’t looked up in all this time and frowned. Fucking hell, if he didn’t want to see the project he wasn’t going to insist. He exhaled loudly and put the paper on his bag. Sherlock was still scribbling, still not looking up.  
   
Just as about as he was going to leave the classroom, he heard a voice, thin and vulnerable. “Can I see our grade?”  
   
John stopped abruptly, trying to wrap his mind around the voice he had just heard. He turned to look at Sherlock, who was still not looking up! “Excuse me?”John said, somehow wishing Sherlock would lift his face from the notebook.  
   
“Can I see our grade?”Sherlock repeated in an even lower tone, making it almost impossible for John to hear.  
   
John stood still and quiet, completely frozen. He had never heard Sherlock speaking like that.  
   
And finally, _finally,_ Sherlock lifted his face. And John wished he hadn’t, because he looked like a fucking mess. He had bags under his eyes, he was pale, paler than usual, his face remained stoic, trying not to give anything away, but John could see it all and it was unbearable. Their eyes locked for a moment, but it was all too much.  
   
He opened the bag and gave the paper to Sherlock, feeling at complete and utter loss of what to do now. He sat in his chair and turned to look at the greaser, whose eyes were now fixed on the project as he read it all.  
   
He felt his heart was breaking, because this, of all things, was what hurt him the most. He knew Sherlock had made a huge mistake and then the cherry on top was the fact he had said he _hated_ him, but this Sherlock didn’t look like that other Sherlock at all. This one looked broken, all of his defenses down, all the facades gone, and this was what was left.  
   
He felt a sudden need to wrap his arms around the greaser, to kiss the pain away.  
   
Except he knew the pain was because of him and there was nothing he could do about it.  
   
Sherlock finished reading it and brought it back to John, without looking up. “Thank you.”  
   
John didn’t reply. He simply tossed the paper back on his bag and left, terrified his voice might give him away. He walked out of the classroom and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths, feeling his legs weak. He told himself he wasn’t going to cry but couldn’t help it. The tears started streaming down his face and there was nothing he could do to stop them. He left the hall as fast as he could, unaware of the fact Sherlock had stood up, taken his bag and was standing behind him as soon as he started crying.  
   
The greaser wanted to say so many things but couldn’t come up with anything. He closed his eyes and turned to walk away from the hall, in the complete opposite direction to the one John had taken.


	26. Ain't That A Shame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why do you always have to come and ruin it?"

Weeks passed by and nothing happened. Absolutely anything at all. John was determined to ignore Sherlock at all costs. It wasn't easy, of course, especially because he had to see his face every day, although he tried to ignore it, it was almost impossible, there were moments when they ran into each other, or their eyes locked for a moment while he crossed the hall, or when Sherlock was sitting on his bench, absorbed in a book while John passed by.  
  
He hated all of those moments.  
  
John could tell Sherlock had been sleeping poorly and was smoking again. This was easy to find out since 1. The first thing he noticed about Sherlock's face were the huge bags under his eyes and 2. The penetrating smell of cigarette John perceived every time the greaser passed by.  
  
Sherlock had started to hang around Jim and Sebastian again. And John absolutely _hated_ that, because Sherlock was a completely different person when he was around them.  
  
On the bright side, Jim hadn't threatened him again, he hadn't even acknowledged his existence, he was back to being just another nerd guy, which was okay with John, it felt as if things had never changed.  
  
Except they did, irreparably.  
  
John felt something he could only call excitement every time Sherlock was around, thanks to the greaser he had been to crime scenes and tried to solve cases, and now going back to normality, to his life as it used to be before, it was just unbearable.  
  
He missed the adventures, he missed the excitement, he missed Sherlock.  
  
\-------------------  
  
It was Sherlock's fifth cigarette in the day. And it was only 12 m. The bathroom had proven to be a quite efficient place to smoke during classes, so more often than not he excused himself and lit a cigarette. It helped him to think.  
  
Sherlock knew it was a lost cause trying to talk to John. The greaser felt utterly embarrassed, exposed and ashamed every time either John or his sister went around. Harry didn't talk to him since his fight with John and Sherlock suspected it was because John had told her, which was the logical thing to do, and Sherlock couldn't blame him for it.  
  
The greaser had come to terms with his current situation: it was obvious John was going to find out about his past anyway, either coming from him or from someone else. Clearly he wasn't expecting Victor Trevor to do it, but it was somehow relieving to take that burden off his shoulders. He knew he would have never gathered enough courage to tell John the whole truth.  
  
With time, Sherlock had found out it was probably for the best that things have turned out this way, so he didn't force them, He pushed whatever he felt for John aside and carried on with his life. Not so easy, though, but was worth a try.  
  
Eventually, it became a little more survivable, he could look into John's eyes without feeling regret anymore, without desperately wanting to reach for him and kiss him... Well, the feeling was still there, but Sherlock managed to be strong enough not to react to those feelings.  
  
He had no idea how or why, but he started talking to Jim and Sebastian again. At first it was a bit awkward, he still felt a lot of resentment towards them because of what they had done to John, but once he was holding a cigarette in his hands, they seemed like fairly good companions. They still said a lot of bullshit, but at least Sherlock wasn't lonely and that was good enough.  
  
But that was a lie. Sherlock felt deeply lonely, he just didn't react about it. He concealed it all, all of these feelings were accumulating inside, and he was afraid maybe one day they'd be too much and explode.  
  
He finished the cigarette with a sigh and threw it into the bin, of course he was aware of how exponentially his habit of smoking had increased lately, but honestly he couldn't bring himself to care. He had more important things to think about. No. Not John. The case, yes. The case, the threats, the fair, Victor, _John._ No. Not Victor nor John.

  
Both of them were incredibly pointless, absurd and stupid thoughts.  
  
He sighed, thinking to himself _conceal, conceal, conceal. Save those thoughts for later. Then later will turn into never._  
  
He wondered if indeed later would turn into never.  
  
It seemed very unlikely.  
  
\---------------------------  
  
"Hoot, hoot!" Mrs Hudson said, knocking on Sherlock's door.  
  
The greaser had lit up a cigarette and was listening to _Johnnie B. Goode_ by Chuck Berry. He was laying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, paying attention to the shapes the smoke made when it crossed into the air. He exhaled a big puff of smoke when he heard Mrs. Hudson's voice. He closed his eyes and merely replied with an "I'm busy."  
  
"Dear, there's a call for you. Mr. Dim-something. The one who always calls! Says it's urgent."  
  
Sherlock sat up almost immediately, he was unsure whether he should attend the call or not. Last time he had visited the fair was the time he talked to Victor, and since then he couldn't bring himself to do it again, he didn't feel strong enough to face Victor again. Dimmock didn't know that of course.  
  
He opened the door, and Mrs Hudson squirmed immediately. "Oh dear, open those windows, you're going to asphyxiate yourself! I would tell you those things are going to kill you, but you wouldn't listen to me anyway."  
  
"You know me too well, Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock said with the wink of an eye.  
  
He walked down the stairs and reached for the phone. "Yes?"  
  
"Sherlock." Dimmock's voice sounded a bit desperate. "...The fair..."  
  
Sherlock frowned. "What?"  
  
"Someone placed a bomb on the fair."  
  
Sherlock's breath caught. Dimmock, unaware of it, kept talking.  
  
"We're taking all the people to ER. Some injured ones..." There was a deafening silence on the other side of the line.  
  
The greaser cleared his throat and tried to push away the nagging feeling crossing his mind. "I'll be there in ten minutes."  
  
"I don't think it's appropriate, Sherlock." Dimmock replied instantly.  
  
"I'll be there in ten minutes!" Sherlock replied sharply.  
  
"See you there, then."  
  
\--------------------  
  
John had been sitting in his bedroom for hours, with the chemistry book in front of him without actually starting to do the homework. He couldn't focus. Every time he tried to look at the book and started writing on his notebook, his mind took him somewhere else. Somewhere far much more interesting than this.  
  
He sighed and went to turn on the radio his mother had bought him over a year ago. He barely used it, because he didn't like to be distracted whenever he was busy doing his homework, but apparently right now that was all he needed. He placed the classic music station, _F_ _ü_ _r Elise_ by Beethoven was playing, he laid on the bed and put his arm over his face, covering his eyes, taking deep breaths.  
  
Eventually, he felt better. He really loved this song.  
  
As soon as the song was finished, the 7 p.m. News report started. _What the hell, it's already 7 and I haven't done anything?_ Well, it was hard to care when he was this calmed.  
  
 _Latest report_ -said the broadcaster- _comes from the local fair where a very grave situation has taken place. Around 6:15 p.m. Local time, an explosion has been reported. The police informed us until now there hasn't been any confirmed deaths, but over ten people have been taken to the closest hospital, most of the victims are workers of the fair, who had reported threats before, but police couldn't trace them. We'll keep attentive to any updates on this case. Stay tuned._  
  
John removed his arm from his eyes and sat up immediately. He swallowed down the lump on his throat and felt sick, complete and utterly sick. He couldn't help but think about Sherlock, wondering whether the greaser was there and if he was how he was feeling? _Oh god, Sherlock please, please be okay._  
  
John fought against the urge to stand up, grab his sweater and rush towards the fair, it wasn't just about Sherlock. They had promised _promised_ , they would do anything at their hands to keep them safe. But they didn't do a thing. It didn't work, they didn't solve it and now all these people who have trusted in them were now laying on a hospital bed.  
  
He felt guilt. And he had the right to feel it. This was his fault. This was _their_ fault.  
  
John remembered the way Sherlock felt just after they had talked to the people who had received threats. If he hadn't been injured by the explosion, then finding out about it was going to _kill_ him.  
  
This feeling was unusual for John. It wasn't just fear, it wasn't just worry, it wasn't just guilt. It was a bit like a mix between despair and absolute hopelessness. He couldn't do anything about it now, could he?  
  
He laid down on the bed again, his breathing coming ragged and fast, feeling at a total loss of what to do.  
  
A voice in his mind telling him this was all their fault.  
  
\-------------------  
  
Sherlock had seen many things throughout his short life. Many. Enough for a lifetime. But none of the things he had seen before had prepared him for what he would find as soon as he stepped on the crime scene: a local fair turned into a war zone.  
  
A local fair he was supposed to protect.  
  
A case he was supposed to solve.  
  
An explosion that could have been avoided if he had done enough.  
  
But he didn't do enough. And now he was walking over the rubble. And this was all his fault.  
  
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to steady himself. He felt his legs getting weaker the more he looked at the scene in front of him. The ambulances were still taking the injured ones and there was fire everywhere, _everywhere._  
  
An ambulance had parked nearby them and a man was being carried towards it. Sherlock recognized him, he was the first man him and John had talked to. The one who had asked him if they were going to be alright. And now here he was, being carried into ER and all of it was his freaking fault!  
  
He stood there, his eyes fixed on the ambulance, a thousand thoughts crossing his mind. He felt as if he was out of his own body, as if this was some kind of stupid and terrifying nightmare he would wake up from suddenly. But it wasn't.  
  
"You were supposed to protect them." A voice, sharp and cold came from behind him.  
  
He lifted his head and turned to look, Victor Trevor was standing behind him. His face was bruised, but not terribly so. His lips were pursed on a thin line and he looked... Different. If Sherlock hadn't known him, he'd say Victor seemed terrified.  
  
Sherlock kept a stoic expression on his face. "I _wasn't_ supposed to protect them."  
  
"It was your job!" Victor said, angrily. _Why the hell did Victor Trevor care?_ Sherlock thought to himself.  
  
"My job was to investigate the case. Not to play the part of these people's bodyguard!" Sherlock's voice remained calm, despite the inner voice in his mind telling him Victor was right.  
  
"You weren't there."  
  
"I was busy."  
  
"You didn't see all these people's faces! You didn't hear all the screams! Everyone was terrified! And I couldn't help them! And I was expecting you to come but you came a bit late, don't you think?"  
  
Sherlock couldn't answer, he didn't find any word. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again, then closed it.  
  
"Holmes." Dimmock's voice startled Sherlock all of the sudden. He almost jumped, ignored Victor's pained face and turned.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Come." It wasn't a question. It was an order  
  
He turned to Victor once more, said quickly "Take a look at those bruises." And walked away a few steps with Dimmock.  
  
"Did you have anything on the case? Any information? Any clue?"  
  
Sherlock hesitated for a moment, then forced himself to speak convincingly and without quivering. "Not much so far. The only threatens were made as soon as the fair started. All of them contained the word 'game', although it's unclear why. I suppose it has something to do with the location on which are made the threatens."  
  
Dimmock lifted a hand to order Sherlock to stop. " _Anything_ which might lead us to the perpetrator?"  
  
"No, but..." Sherlock kept his eyes fixed on Dimmock, who raised an eyebrow, as if ordering to make up no excuse.  
  
Dimmock didn't doubt for a moment. His words were straightforward, directly to the point, cutting like a knife. "You're out of the case, Holmes."  
  
The statement took Sherlock by surprise. He stepped back. "No."  
  
"Sherlock..." Dimmock said, his voice a bit more tender.  
  
"No! These people talked to me! They knew me! I promised I would try and keep them safe!"  
  
"But you didn't!"  
  
"But at least I can find who did it!" Sherlock pleaded.  
  
"Holmes, your help is no longer required on the matter. Thank you for the information, though. The rest is up to us."  
  
Sherlock shook his head. "You are lost without me!"  
  
"Sherlock, it's enough." Dimmock said with such confidence, Sherlock knew there was no way he would pull back his decision.  
  
His shoulders fell with disappointment and exhaustion and he turned without saying another word.  
  
Victor stared at him, his lips tugging up in a small smirk, looking fixedly as the greaser walked away.  
  
\----------------------------  
  
Sherlock didn't sleep at all that night. He felt a thousand feelings rushing over his head: it was anger, it was disappointment, it was despair, it was pain, it was everything and he just needed to _make it all stop._ But it didn't stop, his mind went from one thought to the other, no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't stop thinking and he really, really hated that.  
  
His life was back to being a mess: He lost John. _John. Don't think about that now-_ People were injured, were on pain because of him even though he had promised he would help them, and now, the only good thing he had left, which gave him some sense of happiness, _the cases_ , was being taken away from him as well.  
  
Things have fucked up in a very, very short period of time.  
  
And then there was Victor.  
  
But what about Victor?  
  
Sherlock pushed the thought aside, not wanting to deal with it right now. However, Victor's voice crossed his mind, in the middle of the maelstrom of thoughts. One simple sentence he had told him few days ago: _I stop feeling and that_ _’_ _s better than feeling anything at all._  
  
 _No. No. NO!_ Sherlock thought to himself. _I won't, I..._  
  
He could stop feeling the pain.  
  
  
Drive the pain away.  
  
  
It used to feel so good.  
  
 _It did, but no._  
  
Stop feeling anything at all.  
  
The perfect solution.  
  
He stood up and reached for the pocket in his jacket. That small package which Victor had given him the day things started going straight to hell, and it was so tempting. Six, Sherlock had counted. The perfect dose. Just what he needed to block away the...  
  
 _"No."_ Sherlock said decidedly, gathering all the strength he could find within himself to put them back in his pocket.  
  
He didn't throw them away, though. It was somehow... relieving to know they were there... Just in case...  
  
Sherlock put an arm over his eyes, throwing himself onto the mattress, hoping he could find some peace of mind, at least for tonight.  
  
He could worry about all of it later.  
  
He fell into a deep but dim sleep. Full of old memories and new.  
  
\-----------------------  
  
John was eager to see Sherlock the next day, but Sherlock didn't have to know that. He needed to see if he was fine, both physically and emotionally. Last report he heard on the radio was at 11 (way past his usual sleeping hour) and it claimed all the injured ones were out of danger. Still, what if Sherlock was at a hospital now?  
  
He couldn't get any sleep, his mind kept wandering over how much all of this was their fault, at the fact Sherlock was going to be a complete mess and he couldn't do anything about it. He also told himself he shouldn't care about the greaser anymore because there wasn't any reason to do so, but he couldn't maintain that. He worried about him and not even the fact he had broken his little heart was going to change that. He got up reluctantly and got himself ready for school.  
  
He was in front of his locker, taking out his books and he didn't have to look any further, almost as soon as he closed the locker's door, his eyes caught Sherlock. The greaser was tossing his bag into the locker forcefully, as if trying to get rid of it as soon as he could. He turned when he heard the sound of the school's bell and looked at John over his shoulder.  
  
Well, certainly looking at him had been one huge mistake John made. Sherlock looked like shit. He had huge bags under his eyes, which told him he hadn't gotten any sleep. His clothes were full of creases, which indicated he hadn't even changed them to come to school. He looked unhappier than usual and his hands were clenching and unclenching in fists, which John could tell, was out of the necessity to smoke a cigarette.  
  
He had learnt something from Sherlock, at least.  
  
He couldn't help it, next time his brain reacted, he was already leaning towards Sherlock because hell, the boy needed help.  
  
His hands moved instinctively to reach for the greaser's shoulder, feeling Sherlock's body shivering a second and then growing completely still, as if feeling that by moving, everything would be ruined in a second.  
  
John knew this was a terrible idea.  
  
He didn't mind.  
  
"Are..." John cleared his throat because he couldn't find his voice. The hall was empty now and being late for physics was his less relevant problem. "Are you okay?"  
  
Sherlock didn't answer, he just pushed harder the bag, closing his eyes, feeling John's breath behind his ear.  
  
"Let me help with that." John said calmly, grabbing Sherlock's hands and moving them away gently, he reached for the bag and got it into the locker softly, without much effort. Sherlock frowned.  
  
Free of his bag now, of the heavy weight over his shoulders, he looked down, took a deep breath and his voice came almost like a whisper. "I couldn't save them."  
  
John felt a bit of affection towards Sherlock, who looked smaller and more vulnerable than ever, like a lost little child looking for his parents.  It almost made him forget about their history. Almost. "I... I heard. But, Sherlock, there was nothing you could do. It was out of your hands." He said kindly, his voice tone low.  
  
Sherlock slid down the locker until he sat on the floor, John crouched right next to him, his hand fixed on his shoulder. "I had made a promise to them."  
  
"I know."  
  
"And I didn't keep it and they trusted me and it's my fault." Sherlock said, closing his eyes, a pained expression on his face.  
  
"It's not, Sherlock." John said, leaning closer to the greaser. "I know you feel guilty, I felt guilty too because I had been there and I didn't do anything, but there was nothing I... nothing _we_ could have done to rescue them. Feeling guilt won't help them, but you can focus now on finding the person who did this."  
  
"I'm out of the case." Sherlock said bluffly.  
  
"What?" John said, honestly surprised.  
  
"Dimmock threw me out of the case. Said that I had done 'enough'."  
  
John didn't know how to reply to that, Sherlock must have been feeling like hell. "Jesus, I'm... I'm sorry, Sherlock."  
  
Sherlock shrugged "It was the only good thing I had left." He turned his face up to stare into John's eyes. The boy kept his eyes fixed on Sherlock's.  
  
A sudden impulse reached over Sherlock, an impulse so abrupt he couldn't stop it, he was already leaning forward, anxious for a touch of John's lips.  
  
John stood up immediately, looking away from Sherlock. He covered his eyes with his palms.  
  
Sherlock looked down, feeling a bit torn down and awkward.  
  
"Why do you always have to come and ruin it?" John said, feeling anger spreading over his body.  
  
"I'm sorry. I couldn't help it." Sherlock muttered, still looking down.  
  
John reached down again, his back to the lockers, sitting by the greaser's side. At least Sherlock hadn't fucked up completely. He didn't answer, his hands were still on his eyes, just over his glasses.  
  
"John." Sherlock whispered.  
  
John closed his eyes, hidden behind his hands. He hadn't heard his name coming from Sherlock's seductive voice in a long time. He didn't answer.  
  
Sherlock moved an inch closer, he kept his tone low and gentle. "I'm sorry, but not about this."  
  
John opened his eyes, moved his hands and turned to look at him. "Then about what?"  
  
"Everything. All the pain I have caused you. I'm sorry."  
  
"That doesn't change anything." John said defensively.  
  
Sherlock didn't look surprised. "Still, I... this isn't how I expected things to be between us, and I... I miss you."  
  
John closed his eyes again at the last words. He had been feeling better, but this felt like a relapse. He didn't reply, didn't know what to say.  
  
"I know I ruined everything, I know it, but just... I need you."  
  
"I'm sorry, I can't... I can't do this right now, Sherlock, I simply can't." John said, standing up all of the sudden, the greaser's eyes following his movements.  
  
"I just wanted you to know that. I hope we... We can be friends someday."  
  
"You and I have never worked as friends, we both know that. We haven't worked as anything."  
  
Sherlock stood up, his eyes now facing the floor. "I don't hate you. I'm sorry I said that."  
  
"I know you don't. Still, it hurt." John replied dryly.  
  
"I regret of saying it. I regret it so much. You mean a lot to me." Sherlock said, and it was the first time he said this to anybody.  
  
John should have said something, but he just couldn't find the words to express it anywhere. He stared at Sherlock's blue/green/gray eyes, silently. He took one deep breath and closed his eyes. Then, he said the only thing that he could come up with. "Stop it. Just stop it."  
  
Sherlock bit his lip.  
  
John straightened his back and faced the greaser again. "Goodbye, Sherlock. I'm late for class. " He turned and just like that, he was gone.  
  
Sherlock sighed and clenched his fists. The urge for a cigarette was uncontainable. Or perhaps something stronger. No. Cigarette, for now.


	27. Rave On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Your elevated pulse seems to disagree with you."

John was dazed during the rest of the day. He didn't know what to do, what to respond, how to react. He just went from one class to the other, sitting absentmindedly, constantly thinking about Sherlock.  
   
John's mind was divided in two sides: there was a side which loved Sherlock deeply, which remembered everything they had lived in such a short period of time, all the things the greasersaid and the happiness he felt back then. That side of his brain kept constantly telling him to forgive Sherlock, that he had messed up, completely, but he deserved another chance.  
   
But there was the other side. The one which replied not to do it, the one who brought the image of Victor's longing stare, the bag of pills, the accident, his sister... And John realized he couldn't just forgive him.  
   
He had started taking lunch again. When he was with Sherlock, they would spend lunchtime together, but since that wasn't an option anymore, he started spending more time with Mike and his friends. Mike asked him curiously once what he used to do during lunchtime, but John just shrugged and said he went to the library, but now he was getting tired of it. Mike seemed satisfied with the answer since he didn't ask again.  
   
His last class before lunch was Biology, and even though he loved it, he couldn't focus and he absolutely hated that. When the bell rang, Mike turned to look at him and frowned: "Mate, are you okay?"  
   
John nodded and smiled forcedly. "Yeah, fine. Just a little... Tired."  
   
"Are you having lunch with us?"  
   
"Yes. I'll be there in a moment, I'll just go and put these books in the locker and I'll see you at the restaurant, okay?"  
   
"Sure, see you then." Mike said, turning towards the group of friends which was waiting for him outside. John nodded as some kind of greeting towards them, and they smiled at him. Perhaps he wasn't that much of a burden for them, perhaps they enjoyed his company. Well, hopefully.  
   
John took the books to his locker and turned towards the bathroom. When he left, he found Sherlock on the usual bench, sitting and reading. He stopped and looked at him for a moment. He missed looking at Sherlock closed in his own world. He smiled a little and kept walking, aiming to turn the corner as fast as possible so he wouldn't notice him.  
   
But of course, Sherlock noticed him. As soon as the greaser saw the boy walking down the now empty hall, he stood up and closed his book silently, just before John could turn around the corner, he felt a hand grabbing his elbow and pulling him back.  
   
John turned a little, "Wha..." He said a bit astonished.  
   
"Shhhh...." Sherlock said to him and brought him to the chair.  
   
John was a bit too astounded by the warm hand on his arm and the playful smile on Sherlock's lips so he didn't protest, he just followed the greaser towards the seat. Finally when he wrapped his mind around all the things that had happened, he frowned. "What do you want?" He said, trying to keep his voice cold.  
   
Sherlock looked back down and opened the book once again. _Naked Lunch_ by William S. Burroughs, John could read. "Shhh... I'm reading." The greaser replied carefully.  
   
"What?" John asked seriously confused.  
   
"I'm reading."  
   
"And what do I have to do with it?"  
   
"I want your company." Sherlock said, still not raising his eyes from the book.  
   
"And couldn't you ask for it like a normal person?"  
   
Sherlock snorted. "A normal person would. I wouldn't."  
   
John smiled but then covered his smile because he was supposed to be mad at Sherlock. "Sherlock..." He said, trying to come up with something to say, but the greaser interrupted him.  
   
"I miss you." He said, eyes still on the freaking paper and how much John wished he could just pull the greaser's hair and force him to face him.  
   
"So your answer for that is to shove me into a chair?"  
   
"I didn't... Shove you. I just lead you towards it."  
   
John shook his head, uncertain if he should be boiling with anger or laughing. He stood up impulsively, telling himself it was the best choice.  
   
Sherlock took him by the wrist. "Please, don't leave."  
   
"I have to take lunch."  
   
"Just...stay for a while. Just a little while."  
   
"What for?" John asked raising his eyebrow but sitting once again on the chair.  
   
"I just need to know you're here." Sherlock said fixing his eyes on the book once again.  
   
John sighed and closed his eyes. "I don't want to be here, Sherlock."  
   
"Your elevated pulse seems to disagree with you." Sherlock said, still looking at the book. John looked down and realized Sherlock hadn't loosened the hold of his grip.  
   
"Jesus, Sherlock! Don't you start with it! I don't want you to deduce me!"  
   
Sherlock smiled a bit. "Shhh... I'm reading." He said once again.  
   
John started to get angry. "So I'll just sit here and shut up because you want me to? Do you think I'm your _pet?"_  
  
Sherlock widened his eyes as soon as he heard the last word and turned to look at John, _finally._ He raised an eyebrow and looked genuinely concerned. "Where did you get that from?"  
   
"What?" John asked, frowning.  
   
"Did someone say that to you?" Sherlock's voice tone raised, and he looked clearly nervous and uncomfortable.  
   
"What? No." John replied.  
   
"Tell me the truth." Sherlock said seriously.  
   
"Sherlock, no. No one said that to me." Sherlock closed his eyes and let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. "Why?"  
   
"Because it's not true, John. Never." Sherlock said, turning towards the book again.  
   
John was even more confused. "I know, that was sarcasm."  
   
"Never say that again. Never. I'd never forgive myself if you thought that of yourself."  
   
"Do you think that of yourself?" John murmured and Sherlock snapped his head to face him, his eyes widening, but he didn't reply.  
   
"Sherlock?" John said, but the greaser just stared at him, silent. "Do you?" The boy hesitated.  
   
Slowly, Sherlock turned to look at his book, ignoring John. There were so many things John wanted to say, but he didn't say them. After a moment, he realized his presence was no longer desired and he nodded, saying "Right." He stood up to leave, but he realized the greaser's hand still hadn't lost his grip on his wrist. "What the?"  
   
"You're not a pet. You're a conductor of light." Sherlock whispered and John had to lean closer just to listen to him. "Stay, please."  
   
John took a deep breath, knowing he was walking on thin ice. He didn't want to go through all of that, not again. His anger came back and he just replied coldly: "Why don't you ask Victor and leave me in peace?"  
   
The grip on his wrist loosened immediately and he turned the corner and walked away, not looking back to Sherlock.  
\------------------------  
  
By the time John reached the cafeteria, they were almost out of lunch, which was cool, because he really didn't feel like eating right now. His whole body was filled with something he could only express as a feeling of anger boiling and desperate to get out. He dragged a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment and went to sit right next to Mike.  
   
He looked around the table, there were clearly more people on it today. That was kind of unusual, Mike had his group of friends, but they were always the same five kids he usually saw and sometimes he talked to. But...  
   
Oh okay, Tom was sitting with a girl, a girl who received him with a smile on her face when he saw him. "John!" Molly said excitedly. "Hadn't seen you in a while. Why haven't you gone to chemistry club?"  
   
John was startled for a moment, then looked right next to Molly and realized: Molly's friends were sitting with them too, so now there were five boys on the table, and four girls. Well, that was a first for Mike's friends and himself. "Hi Molly, how are you? Um- I'm sorry. I had been- busy." He looked instinctively to the door.  
   
Molly smiled at him and threw a dismissive hand. "It's okay. I'm fine, by the way. How have you been?"  
   
"Great!" John lied with a nod. Molly seemed pleased enough with the answer and didn't push the matter any longer. John sat and tried to make conversation. "So... what are you talking about?"  
   
Mike turned to look at him with the biggest smile on his face. "Well..."  
   
"No, I'll tell him!" Tom said, sitting up straight. "So... Sarah is throwing a party and she wants us there."  
   
John's gaze turned towards Sarah, a brunette girl with a pretty, pink lace dress and a nice hair up-do, who smiled at John and nodded, raising her eyebrows towards him. John had seen her before, she used to pick Molly up after chemistry club, but didn't see any subject with her. He smiled back, then the words settled on his mind: _A party._ "A party?" He asked with his eyes widened.  
   
Sarah replied this time. "Yes. My parents are out of town for the weekend and I thought it would be nice. A small party between all of us." She said, and her voice sounded quite confident.  
   
John's first idea was to come up with an absolute NO. But once he thought about it, perhaps... maybe... "You can't say no, Watson." Tom said sharply.  
   
"Yeah, mate. We're all going to be there."  
   
John rubbed his nape, thoughtfully. "I don't know, they aren't much of my style..."  
   
"Oh come on! It's going to be fun!" Molly said with a smile.  
   
John hesitated for a moment. "It will be just us?"  
   
"Of course! I don't want those idiots-" she said pointing towards the greaser's table. "-to ruin our night!"  
   
John felt a bit calmer. He sighed. "Alright, I'll ask my father." He said, still uncertain whether this was a good idea or not, but it seemed like a good one, to drive his mind away from the multiple things he had to deal with. It was for the best, wasn't it?  
   
He smiled. Now, he kind of felt like going to the party. His first party. Wow, he definitely never considered this would happen.  
   
\------------------  
   
He was even more surprised when his father replied him excited that it was a great idea. It didn't take too much to convince him actually, he just asked him where it was, who was going to be there and who was organizing it. As soon as John mentioned the name 'Sarah', his father nodded and said: "Well, you should go. And you should tell your sister, too."  
   
_That is never going to happen,_ John thought to himself. As soon as he climbed upstairs towards his bedroom, the excitement he had felt earlier that day turned into sudden panic: What if he didn't know how to behave in a party? What if he drank too much? What if there were too many people and he would just be rejected?  
   
He sighed. The party didn't sound as much of a great idea now.  
   
It was Wednesday, he had up until Saturday to make his mind about it. He sighed and closed his eyes, and suddenly his mind was filled with old memories of a certain greaser and that lovely smile, and his eyes, and...  
   
Yeah, he was definitely going to the party.  
   
\----------------------  
   
It was Thursday and they had just finished their English class. Sherlock hadn't talked to John in two days because he knew the boy felt nothing but resentment towards him, and he couldn't blame him for that. He hated himself as well.  
   
"Hey, Sherlock."  
   
"What?" Sherlock said turning to look at Greg as they made their way to the cafeteria. Well, as Greg did. Sherlock was going to keep reading his book.  
   
"You should come and have lunch with us, mate."  
   
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Boring." He simply replied.  
   
Greg was getting used to get this kind of responses so he just smiled. "Oh come on! You can't tell me that crap you read is better than hanging out with us."  
   
"I don't read crap." Sherlock said defensively.  
   
"Stop being such a wet rag! Come join us for lunch!"  
   
Sherlock sighed dramatically, as if he had just been asked to kill someone. "Fine."  
   
The cafeteria was boring and full of people and... John was sitting at the nerds table with some boys and girls and he was smiling and Sherlock hated him for that and cursed internally for accepting taking lunch with those idiots and forced himself to believe he wasn't doing it just so he could look at John.  
   
Jim and Sebastian sat in front of him, pretty much blocking his view to the nerds table. Which was, of course, for the best.  
   
The greasers' table was as full as usual, but people seemed pleased of seeing Sherlock there. Jim didn't make any comment on it, but kept talking and talking and talking, trying to catch Sherlock's attention while the greaser listened to him absentmindedly, barely nodding and fighting against the sensation to roll his eyes.  
   
Irene was there too. They haven't talked to one another since their 'break-up', but she seemed to be fine with him. Sometimes he would catch her sight and she would wink an eye to him while Greg eyed them suspiciously.  
   
Since Clara and Harry broke up, Harry stopped spending as much time with the greasers as she used to. Sherlock had to say he felt a bit relieved because he wasn't sure he would be able to look at Harry, lest of it all sitting in the same table as her.  
   
In a joyful moment in which apparently the whole group didn't have any other topic of discussion, much to Sherlock's delight, Irene snapped her head up as if she had just come with the greatest idea of all. She looked around excitedly. "Listen..."  
   
They all turned to look at her and Sherlock sighed, lamenting the moment of peacefulness that had just ended. He was curious anyway, so he looked at her.  
   
"Yesterday I was talking to Harry Watson..."  
   
At the mention of the name, Clara flinched a little, but Irene didn't seem to notice. Sherlock tried to maintain his face still, but he couldn't deny the mention of the Watson name brought him many memories.  
   
"...And she told me that the freams are having a party!"  
   
The whole group burst in laughter, except for Sherlock and Greg. Sherlock was starting to form an idea about it, but he had to ask anyway. "How does she know?" He said frowning.  
   
Irene threw her a mischievous smile and a smug look and said: "His brother is going."  
   
Sherlock felt his throat getting dry but tried to remain stoic.  
   
"Righto!" Irene said to stop the mutters from the rest of the greasers. "...So I was thinking, maybe we should go... and, you know, teach them how to throw a party."  
   
Jim turned to look at Sebastian and then at Irene and grinned. Sherlock could only smell trouble. He turned to look at Greg, who now seemed to agree with the idea somehow. Sherlock nudged him and Greg turned to look at him. "What?"  
   
"We can't let them do that!"  
   
"Oh come on! It'll be fun!" Greg replied excitedly. "I don't get why you're so grumpy about it, John's going."  
   
Sherlock remembered in that moment that Greg didn't know the whole story, and he believed they were still... whatever they were. He didn't clarify it though, he just stopped for a second and considered it. It seemed like a tempting idea. John would be there anyway.  
   
"Where is it?" Sebastian asked.  
   
"Sarah's."  
   
They frowned. "Who's Sarah?" Clara asked.  
   
Irene threw a hand dismissively. "What do I know! She's just one of the nerds."  
   
Sebastian smiled. "Oh I know who she is! She lives like two blocks from mine!"  
   
They all nodded in agreement and Irene looked at Sherlock, raising her eyebrow, as if subtly saying _Here you have your payback._ "So, it's settled?"  
   
Jim smiled. "That party is going to be a bash!"  
   
\--------------------  
   
It was Saturday evening, John was leaving to the party in less than half an hour and he might be experiencing a panic attack. He didn't like to socialize, he didn't enjoy it, lest of it all, drinking and dancing, what the hell was going through his mind to think this had been a good decision? Now, standing in front of his closet, he felt like he was the biggest idiot in the world.  
   
He had dressed differently. For once he put the sweaters aside and decided to go for a wool vest with a white shirt underneath, which made him look rather different. He had combed his hair towards one side, which looked better on him and he was wearing a pair of Oxford shoes he found buried in his closet, a present for his 15th birthday by one of his aunts. When he looked at himself in the mirror he realized he looked rather posh, but it looked kind of good. It reminded him of these stylish boys who called themselves Mods.  
   
He couldn't deny he felt a bit uncomfortable with that outfit, but with the nervousness he was feeling at the moment he couldn't care less about the way he looked.  
   
Among many other things, Harry had told John that if the party was supposed to be at seven, people would arrive an hour or so later, but he dismissed it. Honestly, the people Harry went to parties with was quite different from the kind of people who would attend this party, so at 7:15 he was already knocking on Sarah's door.  
   
Sarah grinned at him as soon as she saw him, she looked different, she had a beautiful hairdo and a lovely dress, and it felt somehow different to see her outside of school, John grinned back. "I thought you wouldn't come! Come on in! Everyone's here already!"  
   
_Now this is the kind of people I go to parties with,_ John thought to himself. As he entered, he was received with pats on the back and was given a red cup full of beer, which John stared at, currently self-conscious of what he was about to do. _Sod it,_ he thought, and without hesitation, took a sip. It tasted like shit, but after two or three sips it felt... better.  
   
He smiled and sat to talk with Molly, while Sarah looked for some music to play. She finally settled for some jazz, which most of the people enjoyed, giving her affirmative nods as the music started playing.  
   
Tom came back from the kitchen and took a seat next to Molly, holding her hand. "Looking good, John."  
   
John smiled. "Thanks."  
   
Tom turned to look at Sarah, who was still messing with the jukebox, his gaze turned to John once again. "I'm glad you're here, Sarah kept asking and asking if you were going to show up."  
   
John looked a bit startled. "Oh? She did?"  
   
"Yeah, you know, I think she likes you, she keeps talking about-"  
   
"SHHHH!" Molly said, widening her eyes. "You don't tell boys that sort of things! It was supposed to be a secret!"  
   
"Oh." John managed to say as soon as he understood what Molly meant. He cleared his throat, feeling a bit awkward. "I see." He certainly didn't expect that, well, he had been talking to her these last few days, had even walked with her to some of her classes since Tuesday, but he never realized she would be interested in him romantically. The thought startled him.  
   
"Please John, don't say a word to Sarah about this!" Molly pleaded him.  
   
"No, it's fine, it's just..." He turned to look at Sarah.  
   
"You'd make a lovely couple!" Molly said excitedly.  
   
John rubbed his nape. "Yeah, I don't know about that."  
   
Molly was about to reply when Sarah took the empty seat right next to him. "Can I sit?" She asked with a smile.  
   
John opened his mouth and then closed it, he then turned to look at Molly and Tom, who were nodding at him, encouragingly. "...Sure." John replied after a moment and took a sip of beer.  
   
\----------------------  
   
When John realized, it was already 9 p.m. He seriously had no idea at which moment time had passed so fast, but he had to admit he was having a great time. He had talked to Sarah during all that time, and she was really interesting, she kept telling funny stories and he had a good laugh.  
   
Perhaps the fact he had already had five cups of beer was helping with it.  
   
He knew that wasn't right, that his sister was a fine example of why drinking was absolutely wrong but hell, it was so hard to care when he was having so much fun, plus, it's not like drinking five beers would make him an alcoholic, they would make him light-headed, sure, but alcoholic not so much.  
   
The rest of the group turned sometimes to look at the couple sitting and absorbed in conversation and would raise their eyebrows, surprised. John didn't notice them.  
   
He didn't notice when there was a knock on the door, either.  
   
Sarah didn't seem to notice either.  
   
Mike did and stood up excitedly. They had ordered a pizza like ten minutes ago. He went to open the door and his face fell completely as soon as he saw the woman standing in front of him: "Irene?" He asked.  
   
It all happened too fast: Irene opened the door with a bang, the rest of the group stared at her and the other greasers who were invading the house. They stood up, speechless and surprised. Irene looked to the other end of the living room, right next to the backyard, and so did Sherlock who had entered behind her. Sarah was smiling at John and touching his arm while he told a silly story that had happened to him when he was eight, and when John looked up, Sherlock, _Sherlock_ was right over him, staring.  
   
Greg went to the back as well and turned to place a confused stare towards Sherlock, who remained still and silent. Suddenly, rock n' roll started to fill the environment, really, _really_ loud rock n' roll music. Sarah stood up, and walked indignantly towards the jukebox, saying angrily "What are you doing here?"  
   
Greg cleared his throat and moved to join Jim and Sebastian.  
   
John stood up from his chair and looked at Sherlock, who was frozen and silent, his eyes fixed on John.  
   
"Sherlock?" John asked in disbelief, because the whole situation was absurd. When he finally started to understand what was going on, he realized Sherlock was already walking through the front door and getting out of the house.  
   
"Fucking hell!" John cursed, shaking his head, and hating himself a bit for it, he aimed for the front door, following the greaser.


	28. Story Untold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I don't have you."
> 
> "No, you don't."

"I'm going to be there."

"Yes, that's exactly the problem!"  
  
"I don't understand why is that a problem, aren't you dying to see me?"  
  
"Who told you I was dying to see you? That is far, far away from the truth."  
  
"Sherlock..."  
  
Sherlock sighed. "Fine. _Fine._ Maybe I am. But  the chances are that this ends up worse. I've had a lifetime of experiences with bad ideas, and I know this is one of them."  
  
"But you'll get to see me again."  
  
"I see you all the time at school."  
  
"Yes, but this will be different, there's going to be music and people dancing and everything, it'll be easier."  
  
"I disagree."  
  
"Don't be a party-pooper! Literally! I really don't see which is the big deal."  
  
"The big deal is that... It's _you._ How can I ever face you again? After all the  pain I've caused? I don't want to make you feel worse. I don't want to see you hurt."  
  
"Sherlock, you've done it, over and over again, but perhaps this is your chance to actually make things better!"  
  
"What if I screw up even more?"  
  
"I don't think that's possible."  
  
Sherlock snorted.  
  
"What have you got to lose?"  
  
" _You!"_  
  
"Let's be honest here, you've already lost me, so there's not much at stake anymore."  
  
"I don't know..."  
  
"But I do."  
  
"No, you don't either and do shut up, I'm busy."  
  
"Busy doing what?"  
  
"Thinking of something to do to forget about you."  
  
"Yeah, that's not working."  
  
"It has to!"  
  
"...No, it hasn't, I'm still here."  
  
"You're always here, since the moment we met I haven't found a way to take you out of here."  
  
"That's because you want me here."  
  
"I don't want you here, John. I want you _there,_ in the real life, in the real world, not only as an invention of my imagination to keep me from doing something stupid."  
  
"Well if that's why I'm here for, let me tell you it hasn't worked out because you're pretty much the same idiot you've always been."  
  
"And you are just as charming as always. I don't get it, if you're in my mind palace, aren't you supposed to be how I want you to be? Because I certainly don't dig that kind of John Watson."  
  
"Accept it, you wouldn't have me any other way."  
  
"I don't have you."  
  
"No, you don't."  
  
And with that, Sherlock opened his eyes. He was still uncertain of whether it was a good idea or not to appear at that party, it seemed useless and stupid and it would make him look like an idiot, being there with all those nerds, but the thing was that John _was_ going to be there, and that made it all worth it. Yet he knew John wouldn't talk to him, wouldn't even want to look at him, but a part of himself kept wondering, _but what if?_  
  
And he wasn't going to stay without an answer _,_ he preferred to make a fool of himself than regretting about not doing anything to save it, if there was anything left to save anymore. He sighed and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge on his nose. Mind Palace John wasn't helping either.  
  
Every time Sherlock felt it was a 'danger night' John would appear in his Mind Palace, he would talk to him and make him see some reason, to stop him from doing things he knew he would regret of later. But apparently that night John had appeared in his mind to make him do a thing he certainly would regret of, and he didn't know to pay attention to him or not.  
  
He was tired of thinking, his brain was working too much to keep John's memory as alive and as real as possible and that ended up being exhausting. Finally, he gave in and closed his eyes, still uncertain of what to do.  
  
Just as his brain was about to give up and get some rest, Sherlock heard a voice inside his head.  
  
"Hey!"  
  
"Who called you back?"  
  
"Uh, I'm sorry, I thought you'd like to say good night at least. Forgive me then for creating false illusions."  
  
Sherlock laughed. "This is the closest you've ever been to the real John."  
  
Just as John turned to leave, Sherlock said: "Wait!"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Good night." Sherlock replied with a smile.  
  
John smiled back and nodded. "Good night."  
  
To hell if this was a good idea or not, he was definitely going to that party.  
  
\---------------------  
  
On Saturday morning, Sherlock felt terrified. It was actually really stupid, he had been to parties before, way too many parties, but this was different, John was going to be there and he needed to talk to him.  
  
He didn't think about what to say to John, there were so many things he felt the need to say, but settled for waiting until he saw his face once again and could see into his eyes and expect the right words would flow.  
  
The day before, the greasers had made a plan for arriving at the party: they wanted their arrival to be as strenuous as unexpected, so they would gather up at Sebastian's, wait until all the people showed up, and then appear and blow everyone's minds.  
  
Sherlock hated the idea, but he had no other choice.  
  
He needed a cigarette.  
  
He went to the store to buy a box of cigarettes and grabbed two beers, just to calm down his nerves. The two beers were gone without him even noticing, he was far too anxious to realize he was drinking them, and by the time he arrived at Sebastian's, he had already taken five beers more. Good thing Greg had been the one to pick him up, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to drive there.  
  
If anything, alcohol only increased his anxiety, and so did cigarettes.  
  
Greg and him were the last greasers to arrive at Sebastian's house, Irene smiled mischievously at him as soon as he saw him and Jim, who up until then had been absorbed in a deep conversation with Sebastian, shut up as soon as Sherlock entered and stared at him fixedly, as if he had just made a huge discovery about Sherlock's life. Sherlock preferred to ignore that.  
  
Perhaps a bit of gin would help.  
  
When he was serving the gin, Irene approached, batting her hips from one side to another in that seductive way she knew to pull so well. Sherlock rolled his eyes but stared at her, she was wearing a black, adjusted dress, which made her body look simply perfect.  
  
She smiled as soon as she reached him. "I thought you wouldn't come, I was _so_ disappointed."  
  
"I don't see why you would be." Sherlock replied, turning to look at  the drink he was serving.  
  
"You know, I had never enjoyed creating a plan as much as this one, this is hands-off, the best one I have ever come up with." She leaned closer to Sherlock. "I knew exactly which strings to move to make you play the game, didn't I?"  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
"My lovely, lovely Sherlock, I did all of this for you!"  
  
"For _me?_ " Sherlock asked, fighting against the need to snort in amusement.  
  
"Contrary to what people might think, I happen to have feelings Sherlock, and I want nothing but happiness for you, even if that means seeing you with someone else." She said with a shrug.  
  
Sherlock's frown intensified.  
  
"But I've been told things, and I want you to be aware of them."  
  
Sherlock finally turned to look at her. "What do you mean?"  
  
She bit her lip and stared at him with longing. "Boy you look good today! I'd like to have you just for me."  
  
"What did you mean to say, Irene?" Sherlock ignored her proposal.  
  
Irene shrugged and started serving herself some drink, trying to look nonchalant. "Just some things I've heard... Apparently there has been some kind of undeniable chemistry between your John and someone else..."  
  
Sherlock's brain was a bit slow to process the information, he blamed it on the alcohol, but finally all he managed to say was: "He's not my John."  
  
Irene smiled. "Yeah, I'm quite aware of that. What happened by the way?"  
  
Sherlock remained silent and Irene didn't seem to expect an answer anyway for she continued talking. "...Or that's what I've heard. You know gossips can fly."  
  
Sherlock frowned, it simply wasn't possible, he didn't believe a single word she had just said, he didn't intend to be mean but John himself had said he used to pass unadvertised and people rarely paid attention to him. The image of that memory was alive in Sherlock's mind because he wondered how on earth was even possible someone could ignore the brilliance and perfection around John? "And who is that someone?" He said, trying to test her. To be honest, he felt as if her words had entered on one ear and left on the other. He knew Irene wasn't someone he could trust in.  
  
Irene shook her head. "I don't know."  
  
"Oh I think you do," Sherlock said, eyeing her suspiciously. "I think you know said person will be at the party tonight and you want to unleash some drama, am I wrong?"  
  
Irene stared at Sherlock for a moment and raised her hands. "Look Sherlock, I'll tell you what I know: I've been given this rumor, I don't know if it's true or not, I assumed you could check up by yourself and that's why I suggested you go to the party where John would be. Those are the facts."  
  
There was something odd about Irene which made Sherlock think she was hiding one or two facts more, but at the same time he felt a bit...grateful with her. He shrugged and drank his gin in one sip, at this point in the night he didn't really care if Irene had made all this up (which seemed like the most probable option) or not, he was going to see John anyway and things were going to be different and he was certain of that.  
  
Irene looked at Sherlock one last time with a wide smile drawing on her lips and turned to walk away without saying another word.  
  
\----------------------  
  
Jim knocked on Sarah's door and just as he did, Irene pushed him aside and stood in the front door with her hip tilted to one side. Sherlock was just behind her and she winked at him, a fast and almost imperceptive wink and Sherlock instinctively reached for his hair and adjusted it a little, hoping he would look good enough.  
  
As soon as the door opened, the greaser understood why John was at this party: because it was _boring._ No loud music playing, no dancing, not kissing, and barely drinking. Dull. Mike looked at them and his eyes widened in surprise.  
  
"Hello love, we've heard about the party and thought we might pass and look around." Irene said extremely confident of herself and already crossing the threshold, the rest of the greasers laughed and, without saluting, reached for the jukebox immediately to look for some good Bill Haley and His Comets or Muddy Waters or Buddy Holly.  
  
Irene, Sherlock and Greg walked past the jukebox, Irene was looking for Sarah, waiting expectantly to see her shocked face, and well, Sherlock clearly had another topic in his mind: John Watson.  
  
It wasn't hard to find both of them. Just as Irene stopped, Sherlock could see John, a perfectly-combed and wearing-expensive-clothes John, with a bright smile on his face and a red cup on his hand.  
  
Sherlock's eyes flickered to the point which John's gaze was directed at: a girl. He narrowed his eyes in surprise, then she noticed she had her hand on his arm and their faces were inches away from each other, and he just couldn't believe all of this was actually happening.  
  
Irene turned to look at him, her mouth forming a big 'O' but her eyes almost screaming 'I told you so'.  
  
Sherlock didn't hear, didn't understand, didn't know what to do. He just stood there for what seemed like a lifetime, staring at the _lovely_ couple in front of him. He couldn't put into words what he was feeling: it was utter shock, combined with betrayal, pain and an almost sickening jealousy. He was screaming in his insides, but he was completely still and quiet on his outsides.  
  
John's voice woke him up from his daze. "Sherlock?"  
  
Giving John the coldest look he was capable of, he turned his back and walked away, uncertain of wether he wanted or not to be followed by John.  
  
\-----------------------  
  
  
"Sherlock!" John called.  
  
Sherlock didn't stop walking, if anything, he fastened his pace.  
  
"SHERLOCK!" John tried once again, struggling to catch him up. "So what? After making a scene you just decide to leave cowardly? Look at me at least!"  
  
"What?!" Sherlock said, finally turning. He looked as if he was bursting with anger. So was John.  
  
"What the _hell_ are you doing here?" John said, waving his hands.  
  
"What am I doing here? What are _you_ doing here?"  
  
"I'm just having a small moment of happiness with my friends but of course I can't have such thing without you coming and ruining everything!"  
  
"It seems to me you were having far much more than a moment of happiness!" Sherlock said, crossing his arms.  
  
"So what if I was? I'm not yours for you to come and spy on me!"  
  
"I wasn't _spying_ on you. Don't consider yourself that important." Sherlock spat furiously.  
  
"Then what?" John asked, exasperated. "Have you come to torment me?"  
  
"I didn't know you were here!" Sherlock lied, hoping the lie would be well covered and he wouldn't end up making an embarrassment of himself. "Do you think I would have come had I known you were?"  
  
"You don't even know who Sarah is! So Yeah! I think that's exactly why you came!"  
  
"But you seem to know quite well who she is, don't you?"  
  
"What the hell are you talking about?" John asked, seriously confused.  
  
Sherlock shook his head and looked down. "I didn't think you would forget about me that fast."  
  
John stood silent because Sherlock was _wrong._ He was wrong in so many ways, how dared he say to him that he had forgotten him when he was on his mind all the time? How dared he say that when John just couldn't stop thinking about him and when it took all his will not to launch himself into his arms and kiss him? How fucking dare he to put the blame of it all in John? The anger was just rising and rising. John clenched his fists.  
  
"...but all it took was someone paying you a bit of attention. How sad."  
  
John resisted the urge to throw a punch at Sherlock. Hell, he deserved it. He felt more drunk than before, perhaps drunk with rage. He bit his lip and stared at Sherlock in disbelief. "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" John yelled.  
  
"Why? Because I'm stating the truth?"  
  
"You don't know a _fucking_ thing about me if that's what you think!"  
  
"Well yes, that's exactly what I think!"  
  
"Do you want to know what I think?" John said, leaning closer to Sherlock.  
  
"What?" Sherlock yelled.  
  
"I think you are the biggest bastard I have ever known. I regret the moment I ever talked to you. You are an idiot. A fucking blind idiot!"  
  
" _Blind_ idiot?" Sherlock asked, frowning.  
  
"How can you fucking say all of that? How dare you say that knowing that all of this was your bloody fault?"  
  
"I know it was my fault! Stop yelling it at my face! It's just... I didn't think you would move on so fast!" Sherlock said, still angry, not stopping to consider his words.  
  
"Do you really think I have moved on? Do you think it all has been roses and butterflies for me? Stop being such a fucking asshole!"  
  
"Oh now I am being the fucking asshole, at least I wasn't sticking my tongue down a girl's throat!"  
  
John gasped. "I wasn't sticking my tongue down her throat! And if I was what do you care? That's not your damn business, it's my fucking life and you have absolutely nothing to do with it!"  
  
"Just because it's not _my_ business it doesn't mean I don't care! How could you do that?"  
  
"How could I do _what?_ I wasn't doing anything!"  
  
"Oh really?"  
  
"Yeah, really."  
  
Sherlock leaned closer to John and looked at him straight in the eyes, studying him up and down. "The moment I walked into the living room she was placing her hand on your arm, that body gesture implies attraction towards someone. You accepted it by leaning your head towards hers. When you turned to look up your pupils were dilated and your mouth twitched forming a grimace, quite different from the surprised gesture which you should have done by finding me there, which means that you were feeling guilty about it, yet unrestrained enough to do it so, an effect caused by the-" he leaned even closer to John and smelled him. "Four, no five cups of beer you had. All of that implies not only that you felt attracted towards her but that you were looking for doing something with her tonight. Am I wrong?" He finally said defiantly, quirking an eyebrow.  
  
John stared at him, with his mouth slightly open. "We. Are. Nothing!  I don't want you pulling your fucking deductions whenever you feel like it! Do you want me to get started on the way you looked at Victor  Trevor that night on the fair?"  
  
"Don't bring Victor into all of this! This is between you and me!"  
  
"No." John said, shaking his head and biting his lip. "This is between you and _you!_ You with your insecurities and your paranoia and your constant feeling of abandonment. Let me tell you something: I'm free from that weight. I was free from the moment I found out you had fucked that idiot and you had almost killed my sister, so don't bring _me_ into this, and instead of intending to make me feel like shit (which I don't), try to take a look at yourself and see what's wrong with you so everybody leaves you!"  
  
Sherlock stared at him silent. His expression had faltered, and now his face looked full of pain, but John was now too lost inside the depths of his anger to care about the way the greaser stared at him. He didn't feel remorse, if anything, he felt he was finally being free. He waited for a reply from Sherlock which never came.  
  
"Sod this," he finally said shaking his head. "You can go to hell. Now if you excuse me I want to go back to the party." He said, turning his back towards Sherlock.  
  
Sherlock grabbed his wrist. "You can't just say those things and walk away!"  
  
John loosened the hold on the wrist. "Watch me."  
  
"Fine, then just go with her! What are you waiting for? Everybody always fucking leaves!"  
  
John raised his eyebrow at that. "I wonder why?"  
  
"Go away!" Sherlock shouted, clenching his hands into fists.  
  
"No, no, no. I know what you're doing." John said, pulling that terrifying smile.  
  
"Oh since you are so keen on those powers of deduction, why don't you show me what I'm doing?"  
  
"You're trying to make me feel guilty after you've been such a huge dickhead! Because that's what you always do! You _enjoy_ seeing people hurt, you get off with it. That's why you treat them like shit!  That's why you treated _me_ like shit! And I'm not falling for that, because this, _all of this_ , is your fucking fault!"  
  
"Stop blaming me for every damn thing that happens in your life! If anything, I only made it better so stop complaining!"  
  
"Better?" John laughed, a bitter, terrifying laughter. "All you've done is turning my life into a fucking mess since the moment I first met you! Meeting you was the worst thing that could have possibly ever happened to me!" As soon as he finished talking, he knew he didn't mean what he had just said, any of it, anything. He supposed it had been the alcohol talking.  
  
Sherlock's expression didn't change. "Finally we agree on something." Was all he said.  
  
And it shouldn't have hurt John as much as it did. He flinched and looked down shaking his head. "Well, what else is left to say?" He whispered.  
  
"Nothing." Sherlock said, straightening his back. "Have fun at your party." He said, turning to leave.  
  
"I will." John said with a nod, turning to leave.  
  
This time Sherlock didn't stop him. He sighed. John's words had hit him like spears, stabbing over and over and over, opening a wound that hadn't healed. He closed his eyes and tears fell down his face. His gaze focused on the boy with the perfectly done hair and the expensive clothes walking back to the party determinedly, without faltering, without a glimpse of hesitation.  
  
Then his eyes turned to the right. Irene was staring at him, fixedly, her expression unreadable. She leaned closer and next thing he knew, her arms were pulling him into an embrace. "...I'm sorry." She said.  
  
Sherlock closed his eyes and the tears fell more violently. He didn't care if anybody else was seeing him, he didn't care the person hugging him was Irene Adler, he didn't even care how pathetic this scene must look like. All he cared about was that John Watson left in the end.  
  
Because life proved him once again, that everybody leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay before you hate me because of this chapter, let me tell you a few things:  
> 1\. This had to happen. It really had. It has its own reason, so don't look at it as something bad for their story, but as something that's building their story. Things had to be said, they had been keeping too much for themselves.  
> 2\. Expect more angst!!! Because things are about to get dark! I've already planned the rest of the fic and we're already heading for a fall! (metaphorically speaking)   
> 3\. As I've told you before, there will be a happy ending, so no worries there.   
> 4\. I will never say this enough: tell me what you thought of the chapter, feedback is always welcome, encouraged and appreciated!   
> I hope you liked this chapter! I certainly enjoyed writing it!


	29. I Wonder If I Care As Much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You look tired."
> 
> "I am."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just think the chapter title fits so perfectly into the chapter! You can look for the lyrics if you're curious ;)

Just as John was about to enter back to the party, he turned to look to the right and realized that Irene had seen everything. Not that he cared that much, she could pretty much say whatever she wanted, he was done with everything.  
  
When he opened the door, he turned to look back once again to the place where Sherlock and he were fighting. He had to drag a deep breath and bit his lip as an attempt to control the anger rising through his body: Irene was now holding Sherlock.  
  
This had all been on purpose. John knew it at that exact moment: Sherlock _wanted_ him to say all those things, he _wanted_ things to be that way between them because all he really wanted was to be with Irene. And what did he do? He did exactly as Sherlock had planned. He was such an idiot. A blind idiot.  
  
He clenched his fists and turned his back to the couple who seemed like they couldn't keep their hands off each other. Great. He hoped the two of them would be very happy together.  
  
He closed the door with a loud thump and almost as soon as he did so, he realized a thousand things were happening: 1. there was now loud rock n' roll music, 2. there was alcohol everywhere, 3. Greg was talking to... Molly? 4. Sebastian was dancing with one of Molly's friends. What the hell was going on? Did he just step on a parallel universe?  
  
5\. Sarah was coming towards him.  
  
He gathered all the strength he could and smiled at her weakly.  
  
"Where were you?" She said, grabbing his hand. John's brain seemed a little slow to process all of that, he looked down at their joined hands and frowned. He recalled Sarah had said something, but couldn't quite recall what it was. "We were looking for you!"  
  
John blinked. "...Sorry." He cleared his throat. "I needed to get some air." He looked around the house now full of people dancing. "What happened here?"  
  
Sarah smiled. "Oh, we talked to the greasers and we're having a lot of fun!" She said excitedly. Her cheeks were flushed and she was more talkative and energetic than usual, which could be because of the red cup she was holding in her hand.  
  
He frowned. "That doesn't make sense."  
  
Sarah shrugged with a smile. "Who cares? Come on! Let's dance."  
  
Next thing John knew, Sarah was taking him to dance to the other people. He really didn't feel like dancing, but he didn't feel like going outside either, so this was his best choice. He smiled and started moving, he had absolutely no idea how to dance to that music.  
  
But it seemed that it wasn't that hard, he just had to do what the other guys were doing and he let go with the music, thinking about how amused Sherlock would be if he saw him dancing like this.  
  
Then he threw the thought away, as soon as he felt the anger rising once again.  
  
As the song finished, John took another red cup and drank it in a second, feeling his throat sore, then he took another one. He felt like he wanted to forget everything that had happened so far in this freaking party.  
  
A slow one started. It probably was from Elvis. Or maybe not, John couldn't tell, it was all quite a blur.  
  
Sarah had wrapped her hands on the back of his neck and he held her by the waist, not very sure of what he was doing.  
  
So he blinked.  
  
And suddenly Sarah was too close, far too close, yet he didn't stop her, didn't move his head, perhaps she would help him forget, perhaps...  
  
"Watson!"  
  
John squirmed, Sarah blinked and leaned back, blushing. John turned towards that voice, realizing Greg was right behind him. "Yeah?" He replied, narrowing his eyes.  
  
Greg looked between John and Sarah. "Can I talk to you for a second?"  
  
John's brain took a bit longer than it should have to process that. He nodded. Sarah looked at Greg between startled, embarrassed and upset. Greg just ignored her.  
  
He walked with Greg towards the stairs, feeling a bit (or maybe a lot) dizzy. On their way there, John grabbed another cup and had already drunk it when they sat there.  
  
Greg raised an eyebrow. "Where's Sherlock?"  
And from all the possible reactions, all the wide range of ways to reply to that... he laughed. He fucking laughed. He didn't even know why.  
  
"Watson." Greg said sharply. "Where's Sherlock?"  
  
John shrugged. "Don't know. Gone. Not here. Is he?" He looked towards Greg and frowned.  
  
"But you left the party with him! What happened?"  
  
John nodded. "Okay, okay. I'll tell you what happened. What happened was that I discovered that Sherlock Holmes is the biggest asshole in the entire world!" He said, his voice tone rising.  
  
Greg narrowed his eyes. "What?"  
  
John smiled. "He doesn't care about anyone! Anyone! He only cares about himself. And you know what the worst part of it all is, Geff?"  
  
"It's Greg!"  
  
"That I- Believed in him!" John looked down. "I trusted him. I thought he was different from everybody else. But clearly I was wrong so he can go to fucking hell."  
  
"John..." Greg asked softly, afraid that this boy might break down. "What the hell happened between you two?"  
  
John raised his eyebrows. "Oh, hasn't he told you? I thought he already had, you know so you could all laugh of my ignorance and naïvety..."  
  
"John."  
  
"He was a liar! He did nothing but lie to me over and over and I was blinded by him." John huffed, shaking his head. "...I thought I knew him, but you know what? He always proves me wrong."  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
"Neither do I." John said, sounding helpless.  
  
"But he came here to see you!" Greg said, moving his hands in the air.  
  
John clenched his jaw. "I knew it! I fucking knew it! Of course he'd do that! But nooo... For him it was just a coincidence that I happened to be here. I'm fucking sick of his lies."  
  
"Did you have a fight?"  
  
John's voice got caught. "...Yeah." Was all he could say in the end.  
  
"Where is he?"  
  
"I don't know... Somewhere with Irene, _kissing_ her, telling her he loves her." He looked down and tried to blink back the tears.  
  
"With who???" Greg asked, surprised.  
  
"Oh yeah, turned out this was all a plan Sherlock made to tell Irene he and I were no longer...whatever we were."  
  
Greg frowned incredulously. "Are you sure?"  
  
"Of course I'm sure." John said, placing his hands over his eyes and rubbing them, he felt sleepy, exhausted and numb.  
  
"So you're no longer...?" Greg didn't know how to finish that sentence.  
  
John snorted. "We were never!"  
  
"Bullocks!" Greg interrupted him.  
  
John sighed, closing his eyes. "Fine. Fine. Perhaps we once were. But no. We're not. I'd like to store the memory away as the biggest mistake I've ever made!"  
  
Greg shook his head. "Hell no." He turned to look at Sarah, who was now sitting and talking to Molly. "I think I saved you from doing an even bigger mistake."  
  
"He thought I had kissed her." John said after hesitating for a moment. "And a part of me kind of wanted to, just to see how he'd react if he found out."  
  
"John, don't do that to her. She doesn't deserve to be the person you'd use to pay back at Sherlock. She likes you. Don't play with her."  
  
John frowned and rubbed his eyes, feeling as if he was almost falling asleep. "God, I'm a horrible person. You should have heard what I told him...I didn't mean it, I'm just... I'm exhausted." He said, sounding helpless.  
  
Greg stood up and offered his hand to him. "Alright then, you'll stand up and will take a seat and we'll talk to Sarah and Molly, okay? And... no more drinking."  
  
John agreed to that. His moment of excitement and energy had passed and now he just felt hopeless and sad. His stomach was rolling, after all the alcohol he had forced into himself. As he stood up, he looked at Greg confused. "Why are you doing all of this, Greg?"  
  
"Because..." Greg said as they walked towards the girls, "I thought, since Sherlock wasn't here it was my duty to look after the person he cares about most in the world." He smiled at John.  
  
Greg's words seemed like a blur to John, he couldn't quite understand them, currently too busy thinking about not falling down and embarrassing himself in front of all that people, so he just ignored them.  
  
They talked to Sarah and Molly, and it was a nice conversation. His father picked him up an hour later and John tried to seem as sober as he could. He didn't mutter a word on the whole way to his home. He definitely didn't feel like thinking right now.  
  
He didn't feel like thinking about all the mean things he had told Sherlock, he didn't feel like thinking about how he almost made out with Sarah or about what he talked with Greg or about the kiss Sarah gave him on the cheek to say goodbye.  
  
But most of all, he definitely, certainly didn't want to think about the fact that Irene Adler hadn't returned to the party.  
  
\-------------  
  
John really entered back to the party. He did. He left. Sherlock knew what that meant. Sherlock knew it was all over. Not that it wasn't over before, but after everything they told each other, well, now it was definitely, certainly and permanently over. He was holding someone, or someone was holding him. He cleaned the tears on his face and realized it was Irene.  
  
He sighed.  
  
Irene smiled softly at him. "Feeling better?"  
  
Sherlock clenched his hands into fists when all the sadness turned into rage against John. How dared he say all the things he said? "I. Fucking. _Hate._ Him!" He claimed, clenching his jaw.  
  
"Come. I'll take you home." She said, holding his hand.  
  
Sherlock loosened his hand from her hold and shook his head. "No. It's fine."  
  
Irene raised an eyebrow. "Oh. Are you coming back to the party?"  
  
Sherlock snorted. "No way. But you should go. It was your idea after all. I'll be fine."  
  
Irene smiled at him. "Dear, you're drunk and you don't even have a car. Let me take you home."  
  
Sherlock sighed. He really didn't have any other choice. "Fine." He simply said.  
  
They went into Irene's car. She had a red Ford Thunderbird 1957. As soon as Sherlock jumped into the car he asked Irene: "Can I turn on the radio?"  
  
"As loud as you can." She said with a smile as she turned the car on.  
  
Sherlock had to admit that listening to rock n' roll made things better. Not 100% better, but slightly better. He also liked feeling the wind on his face and he tried his best not to think about John Watson.  
  
Nobody was at his house.  
  
Irene realized of it too.  
  
They got out of the car and almost as soon as Sherlock opened the door, Irene threw herself at him.  
  
He couldn't think, couldn't even react. He blinked and realized her lips were on his and he didn't feel strong enough right now to stop her. So she kissed him and kissed him and kissed him.  
  
Then she started unzipping his jeans.  
  
Sherlock widened his eyes, and it was as if all had taken shape once again. He grabbed her hand. "No! Stop!" He said, feeling himself getting sober all of the sudden.  
  
She looked at him startled. But she didn't give up, she leaned closer and kissed his neck. "You have no idea of how much I wanted to do this, Sherlock."  
  
He closed his eyes for a moment, but then opened them wide once again. "Irene." He said, shoving her a bit.  
  
She didn't say anything, just stared at him.  
  
Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes. "I just... Hell, I had the worst fight ever and I'm drunk. I don't feel strong enough."  
  
Irene bit her lip. "I just thought I could make you feel better. I could make you forget _him._ "  
  
Sherlock looked down and shook his head. "It's not that simple. I just can't get him off my head."  
  
"I'm sorry. For whatever happened between you two."  
  
"What did you hear?" Sherlock asked, becoming suspicious.  
  
She lifted her hands in the air. "Nothing. I swear. I just saw the rage on his face and your eyes on the verge of tears and I just thought about how much I wanted to kiss the pain away."  
  
"Would you...please not tell anyone about it?"  
  
"Oh I think I've proved you can trust me."  
  
"I guess."  
  
"You look tired."  
  
"I am."  
  
"You should go to sleep."  
  
"Yes, maybe I should." He rubbed his nape. "...Thanks for, um, bringing me here."  
  
She leaned closer to him. "You're welcome darling."  
  
"Are you coming back to the party?"  
  
"No, I don't think so. I'm tired too, so I guess I'll just go home."  
  
Sherlock nodded. "Alright."   
  
"Hey, Sherlock. Promise me something."  
  
"What?"  
  
"That you," She took the collar of his jacket and pulled him towards her. "Will never, ever again cry for that idiot."  
  
Sherlock frowned. "He really is an idiot."  
  
"He is. How could he give _you_ up?"  
  
"That wasn't his fault."  
  
"Still. If I had you, I'd never let you go." She leaned closer and kissed him once again. "I'll see you on Monday." She said after breaking the kiss.  
  
Sherlock nodded. He was still kind of drunk and not entirely conscious of what just had happened.  
  
When he heard the door closing, he looked around him. Mrs Hudson was on vacations and Mycroft must be doing... whatever it is he does. And he found himself all alone, once again.  
  
He recalled John's words in his head, each one designed to cause as many harm as possible: _"try to take a look at yourself and see what's wrong with you so everybody leaves you!"_  
  
What was wrong with him indeed?  
  
He had no idea. What had he done to deserve being alone? Losing everyone he loved? Becoming just everybody's sex toy?  
  
He hated John. He hated him deeply, intensely, as he had never ever hated anybody before.  
  
Except he didn't.  
  
He couldn't bring himself to hate him, because he knew that deep, deep inside, John was right. He deserved to be alone, he deserved to feel the same pain he had cause to other people. All of this was his fault. All of it.  
  
He was responsible for the look of pain in John's eyes and for the coldness in his voice when he spoke to him.  
  
He couldn't hate John Watson because he was the one who did that to John Watson.  
  
Therefore, he hated himself.  
  
And that bit was true. He hated himself for every mistake he had ever made, for falling, for thinking sentiments were good, for accepting them.  
  
He hated himself for believing in Victor Trevor.  
  
He hated himself for loving John Watson.  
  
He couldn't keep going like this, this wasn't fine. He couldn't keep this self-loathing, it would tear him apart. He needed to stop thinking for a second. Just stop it all for a moment. The alcohol was losing his effect and it would be even worse once he was sober.  
  
He tucked his hands inside his leather jacket and sat on the couch to avoid the almost desperate voice asking him to go and grab that bottle of whiskey which was on the freezer. He didn't want to keep drinking.  
  
And that's when he felt them.  
  
His eyes widened. His fingertips traced the silhouette of them. Six.  
  
But no.  
  
But yes.  
  
He grabbed the little package and took it out. Just one would do fine.  
  
He chose the purple one and put it on the tip of his tongue without hesitation.  
  
He closed his eyes, smiling to himself. It felt good to have one of those on his mouth again. It felt somehow...comforting.  
  
Victor Trevor came back to his mind. He was like a ghost, wandering around, waiting patiently for that moment in which he could appear and grab him down again. Sherlock flinched, wanting to erase that image off his mind. He accomplished it.  
  
He waited patiently for the moment when things would get better, when all this gray around him would turn into color.  
  
But not even a pill could get John Watson off his mind. He still saw his face, his cold gaze, he listened to the voice full of hate and he couldn't help himself: " _We are nothing!_ " He threw the package forcefully, shouting. He went up to his room and threw himself on the bed.  
  
And the tears started falling once again, and he let them fall.  
  
After all, in the end he hadn't promised Irene he wouldn't cry for John.  
  
\--------------------  
  
After closing the door, Irene started her car. She drove towards Sarah's house but didn't enter. Instead, she looked through the window and realized Jim was looking at her. Great. This couldn't wait till Monday. She motioned him to get out.  
  
"What the hell are you doing here, aren't you supposed to be with Holmes?" Jim asked with a frown after she found her outside the door.  
  
"You are never going to guess what I heard." She said with a smile of mischief.  
  
Jim raised an eyebrow.  
  
Her smile turned even wider. "We have to find a guy named Victor Trevor."  
  
Jim stared at her for a moment, unconvinced. He couldn't deduce anything out of her face. "Victor Trevor..." he repeated.


	30. Sometimes (When I'm All Alone)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Because we're both lying."

  
"Why did you take it?"  
  
"Get out of here."  
  
"Tell your big and wonderful brain to do it so."  
  
"I don't want to see you."  
  
"Me either."  
  
**"** Then why are you still here?"  
  
"Because we're both lying."  
  
Sherlock sighed. "I wanted to forget about you."  
  
"We can both agree it's not working."  
  
"What do I have to do, then? Try something stronger?" Sherlock asked, waving his hands in the air.  
  
John's gaze turned surprisingly serious. "Don't. You. Dare!"  
  
"But I need to...!"  
  
"You need to shut the fuck up! It won't work. I'm pierced-" John pointed towards Mind Palace Sherlock's head. "-right here. And I'm not leaving that easily. So stop trying to avoid me and actually _do_ something about it."  
  
"Aren't you the one who is supposed to be doing something about it? You threw shit at me on that party!"  
  
"Yeah I'm probably doing something about it. I'm snogging Sarah."  
  
"Get the hell out of here!"  
  
"Will you do something now?"  
  
"Yes. Ignore you."  
  
" _Real_ me or _this_ me?"  
  
"Both of you. So start by shutting up."  
  
"You can't ignore _me!_ How can you ignore your own brain?"  
  
"My brain was perfectly fine until you invaded it!"  
  
"Yeah, perfectly fine. Let me take a look at it. Half of it was occupied by the constant need of drugs and the other half with thoughts about Victor Trevor! Seems like you were doing great!"  
  
"SHUT UP!"  
  
"Or what?"  
  
"I'll take another one."  
  
"Fine. Go ahead. I won't leave anyway."  
  
"Perhaps you finally will. I just need a stronger dose."  
  
John shrugged. "How badly do you want to find out?"  
  
Sherlock took one of the pills that were on the other end of the living room and slowly approached it to his mouth. Just as he was about to place it on his tongue, he heard  John's voice. "No, stop!"  
  
Mind Palace Sherlock smiled mischievously."Are you leaving now, then?"  
  
"With one condition."  
  
"Which one?"  
  
John pointed at the pill. "Promise me you won't take it."  
  
Sherlock looked at the pill. "Fine." He said with a sigh.  
  
"I'm not leaving forever... I'll just... leave you alone for a while."  
  
"Great."  
  
"Goodbye."  
  
"Yeah, yeah laters."  
  
Sherlock opened his eyes. He was sprawled on his bed and had fallen asleep somewhere along the night because now the sun was shining awfully bright. He took a deep breath and sat up, grimacing when he felt his head was going to explode with pain. He really shouldn't have drank so much the night before.  
  
He shouldn't have done a lot of things the night before. For starters, going to the party. Well fucking done. As always, he kept messing up.  
  
He didn't remember much of the night, except for the fight. He recalled it clearly in his head. He remembered every word spoken by John, he could trace the gestures his face made, he could almost smell again the beer from John's lips.  
  
He frowned. Of all the things he wanted to remember from last night, the fight with John was certainly the last one on his list.  
  
Trying to make the smallest noise as possible, he went towards the nearest bathroom. He supposed Mycroft was already home and he moved swiftly, praying to all gods the wooden floor wouldn't make noise when he stepped on it.  
  
As if he was ever so lucky.  
  
The wooden couldn't make more noises even if he tried to. Moments later, he heard a "Sherlock." from the library.  
  
Sherlock cursed under his breath and walked towards it. He opened the door, rolling his eyes.  
  
Mycroft was sitting on the desk, reading the paper. As soon as the door opened he lowered it and looked at his brother, raising an eyebrow. Sherlock tried not to think about it. "Morning, brother dear."  
  
"What do you want, Mycroft?"  
  
"I assume you had fun last night at your... _gathering._ "  
  
_Fuck. How the hell does he know?_ "The usual." He said with a shrug, trying to sound as convincing as possible.  
  
"I hope that by 'the usual' you don't mean 'stimulating your mind with the use of recreations until you were so dizzy you fell to the ground', for your own sake."  
  
Sherlock tossed away the image of the pill he had taken the night before. "I am not taking them again, Mycroft. Rest assured."  
  
"I hope so."  
  
"Is that all?"  
  
"I made some breakfast if you're hungry."  
  
"When is Mrs. H. coming back?"  
  
"A...week, I believe. She is just taking a break from you. Can you blame her for that?"  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. When he was in front of his brother it seemed like the only natural thing to do. "Goodbye, Mycroft."  
  
"Sherlock." Mycroft's voice stopped him halfway through the door.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Go wash your face, would you?"  
  
Sherlock frowned and stepped out, closing the door.  
  
He walked towards the bathroom and as soon as he looked at himself in the mirror, he realized the reason why his brother threw weird glances at him. "Fucking hell!" He said, looking at his swollen lips and the red marks he had all over them. The distinguishable mark of Irene Adler.  
  
He had fucking kissed Irene Adler.  
  
And even his brother could tell that.  
  
\-------------------  
  
John didn't want to talk about anything concerning last night, but Harry didn't seem to let go of it. She wanted every little detail.  
  
"So, who's this Sarah?"  
  
"You know her, you have like three classes with her."  
  
Harry stared into space. "No, no idea. Was Clara there?" She asked, unable to mask her curiosity any longer.  
  
John frowned. After fighting with Sherlock the rest of the night had been a blur, but he thought he remembered Clara being there, so he merely nodded. His mother had made him a sandwich but every time he looked at it, he felt his stomach twist as a protest for last night's drinking.  
  
Harry looked down. "Was she with someone else?" she asked, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably.  
  
John rubbed his forehead. "I don't know Harry, god, I don't remember anything from last night."  
  
"Was Sherlock there?" She asked out of nowhere, startling John, whose eyes went wide.  
  
He nodded and Harry gasped.  
  
"I really don't want to talk about it, Harry."  
  
Harry didn't seem to understand what John told her because next thing she said was: "did anything happen between you two?"  
  
John sighed and looked down.  
  
"John, what happened?" She asked, looking worried.  
  
John threw a hand dismissively. "Nothing. We had a fight and well, that's it. There's no point in denying it any longer. We both know it now."  
  
Harry smiled at him, trying to be supportive. "Well, I suppose that's for the best, you know? It's time to move on."  
  
John shrugged, looking at a fixed point in the table. "I guess. I just- I don't know. It's _so_ hard letting him go."  
  
"Yeah, you fell really deep. But I think we should all feel those things at least once in our lives and learn from them, don't you think?"  
  
"Did you learn anything by losing Clara?" John asked a bit harshly.  
  
Harry crossed her arms. "That I had to get her back."  
  
_Different cases._ John thought.  
  
\-----------------------  
  
_Avoiding each other. Avoiding each other at all costs._  
  
That was both in Sherlock's and John's minds.  
  
Irene winked an eye at Sherlock as soon as she saw him but he walked away, not wanting to talk to her right now.  
  
Sarah hugged John as soon as he got out of the car but he simply nodded, not wanting to talk to her right now.  
  
And now they had history. Why did that class even exist? Why did they have to be placed on it together?  
  
John walked into the classroom, holding his backpack tightly, as if his life depended on it. As usual, Sherlock wasn't there yet and John wondered wether he would be there at all.  
  
Defying his expectations, he showed up just before the teacher closed the door.  
  
He approached the seat right behind John. John's first instinct was to look down and pretend to be scribbling something.  
  
"Morning." Sherlock said as he passed by him.  
  
John blinked, wondering if he had just imagined that. He was so surprised that he threw his pencil to the floor. Before picking it up, he turned to look at Sherlock with a frown and muttered, "...morning?" feeling a bit confused and like shit at the same time, for having treated Sherlock that way at the party.  
  
They didn't say anything to each other during the rest of the class. By the end of it, Hikes reminded them of the next deadline they had for the final project: "the first drift of the final essay is due in two weeks."  
  
_Great -_ John thought- _just what I need right now._  
  
He turned to look at Sherlock and smiled politely. Sherlock didn't return his smile but didn't seem to be ignoring him right now so John filled himself with courage and said: "If you want we can divide the work. I think it'd be easier."  
  
Sherlock grabbed his backpack and tossed his notebook on it. John glanced at it quickly and caught the sight of a pair of _Song Hits_ magazines. He smiled to himself, recalling a much brighter memory which seemed like had happened years ago when it had only been months.  
  
He fixed his eyes on John and raised an eyebrow. "Honestly, I think it's stupid doing that, you don't even have a typewriter."  
  
John shrugged. "I could ask someone else for it, that's not a problem."  
  
"Can I give you a piece of advice, for future reference?"  
  
John nodded, not knowing where this was going to. The greaser stood up and took his backpack. "Don't allow your personal feelings to influence your work. Goodbye."  
  
John stared at him quizzically, taking in what he'd said. After he understood it, he stood up and said in a loud voice tone: "There's no need to mix them if there aren't any." He spoke decidedly.  
  
Sherlock turned back and walked towards him. He stopped in front of him. "Then I'll see you on Friday after class and we'll do the project together." He said without another word, turning to leave.  
  
Even though John knew Sherlock couldn't see him, he swallowed and nodded slowly. He stopped moving his head when he saw the greaser stopping at the door for a moment, turning his head and throwing a quick glance at John before leaving the classroom.  
  
After Sherlock stopped blocking his view, he realized Sarah was outside, waiting for him.  
  
_Damn it._  
  
\----------------------  
  
"Sherlock!"  
  
He kept walking, he didn't want to stop at all. If anything, he just fastened his pace.  
  
"Sherlock!"  
  
He didn't turn.  
  
"For God's sake! Have some pants and talk to me!"  
  
He turned to look at Irene, who had been following him since she found him by the lockers. "What happened between us on Saturday, Irene?" He asked sharply.  
  
Irene frowned. "God, were you that drunk?"  
  
"I _wasn't_ drunk," Sherlock said defensively. "I just wanted to erase the whole night off my memory."  
  
"Including me?" Irene asked looking down.  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You know this isn't about you."  
  
"Look," she said leaning closer to him, "nothing happened. You were feeling like shit and I took you home. That's all."  
  
"...And then you snogged me senseless."  
  
"Oh, so you _do_ remember." She said smugly.  
  
"It was a mistake."  
  
Irene rubbed Sherlock's nape. "I know, Sherlock. I don't care." She pulled him closer and placed a quick kiss on his lips. "I have to go to class, I'll see you later, alright?"  
  
Sherlock didn't reply, a bit stunned by the kiss. She gave his hand a small caress and turned to leave.  
  
"Irene." Sherlock called when she was leaving.  
  
She turned towards him.  
  
"Thank you. Really." He did mean it. If it wouldn't have been for Irene, he would have probably ended up looking for drugs in the alleyways.  
  
She smiled at him. "Anytime, love. Take care, please. And know you can always talk to me. I'll always be here for you."  
  
Sherlock nodded, feeling confused but just before Irene could walk away, she turned to look at him again with an apologetic look on her face. He frowned for a second until he realized that right in front of him, down the other side of the hallway, John and Sarah were passing by, talking and smiling at each other.  
  
He ignored John and Sarah, he ignored Irene as well, he just turned and walked away on the other end of the hallway.  
  
\-----------------  
  
John liked being with Sarah, she was fun and cool and he liked talking to her. But he only saw her as a friend. While walking together, he kept asking himself whether he was doing this for the right reasons.  
  
They said goodbye and he didn't realize Sherlock had looked at them until he saw the silhouette of the greaser fading out at the other end of the hall. He sighed, feeling like shit. He didn't have any reason to feel guilty about this, but he couldn't help it.  
  
The rest of his classes were uneventful, and all he looked for was lunchtime, to finally get a bit of rest out of this boring routine.  
  
When it finally came, he went to his locker to put his books back, nodding at Mike to indicate him he'd sit with them, when he looked at a piece of paper that had fallen from his locker. He picked it up and read it curiously. The paper had a message he had already seen before:  " _here starts the game, here comes the fair. Either leave or stay to play. Just one movement wrong and poof! You'll be gone."_  
  
He frowned. Reading that message made him feel horribly guilty, and reminded him of a moment where things used to be better with the greaser. He didn't recall having taken it with him, but here it was: the same paper and the same writing. He stared at it for another while, silently. After a moment, he tossed the paper back and closed his locker, finding Greg right behind it, scaring him to death.  
  
John jumped. "Jesus..." He said rubbing his forehead.  
  
"Sorry... Watson." Greg said, uncertain if he should call him John  after all they've talked about. "Um, quick question, Sherlock was supposed to go to english class, but he wasn't there, do you know where he is?" Greg felt a bit awkward talking to John, but he was honestly curious.  
  
John narrowed his eyes. "No. Sorry, haven't seen him since..." He looked down. "this morning. He was at History class."  
  
Greg looked at him curiously. His face asking an unspoken question that John didn't want to answer right now. He recalled Greg had told him something about Sherlock at the party, something important, but he couldn't tell what it had been.  
  
"...Anyway..." John said awkwardly, after a silence longer than normal. "He did come to school, so he should be wandering around."  
  
Greg nodded, when a voice behind them froze John. "Greg!"  
  
Greg turned and John could clearly see both Jim and Sebastian. Jim didn't look at John and ignored him completely, but he didn't seem surprised to see Greg talking to John. "Coming to lunch?" He asked a bit harshly.  
  
"Yeah, be there in a sec. Save the spot."  
  
"Hurry." Jim said brusquely, turning towards the cafeteria.  
  
Greg turned to look at John again and smiled softly, feeling a bit awkward. "Yeah, I'll look for him. Thanks, um, Watson. Bye."  
  
John nodded. "Sure."  
  
\---------------------  
  
Next time John saw Greg, he was having lunch on Mike's table, not particularly talking, but not feeling terribly bored either, Molly and her friends (including Sarah) had joined them and apparently now it became a custom  to eat together.   
  
Greg strode into the cafeteria, rushing towards Mike's table and startling the rest of the students who were eating, who turned to look at him curiously. As soon as Greg approached, John raised an eyebrow and raised from his seat immediately, knowing something was wrong.  
  
Greg didn't even talk, as soon as he got there, he gestured with his head at John to follow him and both of them started running. Greg ran faster and John tried really hard to catch him, "where is he?" John asked, worried. What the hell had happened with Sherlock?  
  
It didn't take long. He was at the smoking corner.  
  
On the ground, half-unconscious.  
  
And John bent down immediately. Sherlock's eyes were closed, but he kept babbling and muttering intelligible words. John's first instinct was to reach his hand and rub his cheek, hoping he could soothe him. He opened his eyes when he felt John's hands on his face. "What happened?" John asked Sherlock seriously and turned to look at Greg, as if the boy had some answer.  
  
Greg shrugged, breathing hard. "I found him like this." He looked into the grass, frowned and crouched to pick something that had caught his attention. He stared at it, confused.  
  
"Sherlock, Sherlock? Sherlock!" John kept calling, not getting much response from Sherlock's side.  
  
"Watson..." Greg said, his voice quivering, his eyes widening.  
  
"What?" John turned to look at Greg, frowning and panting.  
  
Greg lifted the little package in his hand. It only had two pills left. John frowned. "What the hell is that?"  
  
"It's... This is serious shit! What the fuck? Did Sherlock actually take those?"  
  
And in that moment John panicked, his heart was about to come out of his chest, his mind was dizzy, he couldn't think clearly, not when Sherlock was like this.  
  
He recognized the pills.  
  
He had seen them before.  
  
He knew where they came from.  
  
He felt the need to punch something, or someone. Namely, Victor Trevor.  
  
He had to take a deep breath and steady himself, because he couldn't stop shaking.  
  
"Keep an eye on him, I'll be right back." John said standing up. He grabbed those fucking pills and ran to his locker, knowing if someone found them with drugs, they'd be expelled. He tossed them into it and reached for his biology book, opened it and took a piece of paper.  
  
He ran towards the parking lot, started the car without even caring he was escaping the school and rushed towards the closest phone box he found, he got out running. He dialed the numbers, breathless and dizzy, and heard a voice picking up the phone. "Hello?"  
  
"Hello, yes. Mycroft Holmes, please?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. Really. Next chapter will be up soon! x


	31. The Evil Dope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Stupid, stupid. Stop being so stupid."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for description of use of drugs and a very bad trip. Please, if that makes you somehow uncomfortable, don't read this chapter, your safety and well-being comes first! Don't worry, you won't miss much. This chapter is told completely from Sherlock's pov.
> 
> Apologies for the delay, I've been quite busy at uni, and I've really tried to take some time to keep writing but sometimes it's just impossible. Lots of love! x

Sherlock arrived to the smoking corner feeling disappointed of himself. This wasn't how he expected things to go between him and John. He was tired of building fake hopes. He thought he had seen something in John's eyes when he told him to meet him on Friday, but as soon as he saw Sarah waiting by the door, all of them vanished, just like that.  
   
He kept doing stupid choices, over and over.  
   
He lit up his cigarette.  
   
He should stop thinking about John, he really should. He should stop creating all this fake scenarios and convince himself that it _was_ over, more than over, actually. They both had been quite clear at the party, or so Sherlock thought, he didn't remember much of what he had said, but he remembered John's words clearly. It was painful, yet when they talked to each other at class, Sherlock held some hopes, he wanted to feel as if nothing had changed.  
   
But everything had changed. And that was all his fault. He couldn't blame John for anything that had happened between them, if there was someone to blame, it was him.  
   
Except for what he said at the party, that had been all of Johns fault.  
   
But the last words John said before leaving: _"Meeting you was the worst thing that could have ever possibly happened to me."_ He looked miserable, utterly and completely miserable, he looked exhausted, as if he was done with all of this stupid little game: always on and off, he meant it. He meant all of it.  
  
_And this is all your fault. You're the one who caused this. You promised yourself you wouldn't care anymore, for anyone, ever. You told yourself everything that mattered now were the cases, but look at that. In less than six months you fell again, and look at where 'caring' took you. Sentiment always takes the best out of you, and you knew it, and you didn't stop it._ He couldn't help but think about all of that.  
   
He knew sentiment was the cause of all of his problems, it had already happened once, how did he fall again for that one? He hated himself, for being so weak, so silly, for placing his attention on such mundane things, for being so human.  
   
He had to separate himself from feelings. He couldn't keep up like this. This was stupid, this wasn't him. He wasn't going to spend the rest of his life falling in love over and over and over and always messing it up and blaming himself for it. John Watson was the first and the last case.  
   
Not exactly the first, but what he felt for Victor was so different, and so...toxic.  
   
Victor and John were two separate identities, but the result had been the same: he ended up hurt and hating himself for it.  
   
He had finished his cigarette and he still couldn't find the focus, the strength he needed to just stop _feeling_ already. What did he think? That the cigarettes held magic answers? That he would smoke one and suddenly he would be 'happy' again?  
   
_Stupid, stupid. Stop being so stupid_.- Mind Palace John kept telling him.  
   
He wished he could know how to stop being so stupid and start thinking clearly. His brain had stopped being logical since that first time he kissed Victor Trevor, so many years ago. He regretted it, in so many ways. He regretted everything that happened after it of course, but none of it would have happened had he been strong enough to simply back down, to say 'no', to toss away whatever feelings he had for Trevor and continue with the perfectly rational life he had been living up until that moment.  
   
The problem was not the sentiment, the problem was that he wasn't strong enough to resist to them. He was never strong enough. He was still the same weak, helpless small kid who clung to somebody else as if his life depended on it.  
   
_Focus. Focus. Focus! Think logically. Think. Just...think._  
  
Nothing. He came up with nothing. He needed to focus.  
   
He tossed his hands into his pockets and felt the small package. The fingertip of his index caressed it, felt the shape of each one of the five pills left. The colors he liked, the dose he needed. Hell, Victor knew him well.  
   
He licked his lips in anticipation. He stood still for a moment, not daring himself to take the little plastic bag out of his pocket to take a look to the pills. He knew he wouldn't resist. He knew he wouldn't stop himself.  
   
He gathered all his will, recalling what had happened the last time he took them. The accident had been his wake-up call, in that moment he knew he had to quit them for real, forever. Forever.  
   
   
A voice invaded his mind, blocking John's fading figure. A seductive voice, a voice he had eventually come to hate, but that had meant so much once. _"It blocks away the pain, can't you see that?"_  
  
Block away the pain.Perhaps...  
   
Just this once.  
   
Just one would do.  
   
Just one would cause the desired effect. Of course it would.The night of the party he was too drunk and that fogged his brain enough, but aside from that, he hadn't taken them in a long time, so whichever resistance his body had developed towards them was no longer there. Absolutely logical assumption.  
   
He was finally thinking.  
   
He took the plastic bag out. Two blues, one purple, one white, one yellow.  
   
It was hard just picking one, they all looked so good.  
   
Another voice invaded his mind, a powerful sharp, completely clear voice. _"Please tell me he'll be okay. Please tell me he'll survive."_  
  
He grimaced, andhearing John's voice, he threw them into the grass, feeling disgusted with himself. Great. Another feeling to add to his expense collection of things he wasn't strong enough to avoid.  
   
" _But I stop feeling and that's better than feeling anything at all."_  
  
His mind had provided him the best encourage. It had just given him the perfect reason, the little push he needed. Victor's voice didn't even hold that bitter tone it had when they discussed it, it sounded provocative, inviting, relaxed. Focused.  
   
Stop feeling. That's what all of this was about wasn't it?  
   
Right now he couldn't wish for anything else, he needed to block the pain. He needed to stop this stupid self-blaming. He had to block away all the ghosts of his past before he ended up even more screwed.  
   
Including John Watson, _especially_ John Watson.  
   
He wanted to stop thinking about John, to stop feeling whatever he was feeling towards the boy, he didn't want to anymore, he wouldn't bear it anymore, it was all too much. It was the way John smiled when he was angry, it was the way his hands clenched into fists when he was nervous, it was the way he fixed his glasses when he was thinking, it was the way his mouth tasted, the way he kissed: both inexperienced and perfect. It was the way he felt whenever he was with him. It was the way he felt whenever he was without him. It was what he told him at the party. It was the way he looked at Sarah. It was everything.  
   
He needed the strength to stop feeling all of that.  
   
After all, not feeling is better than any other feeling.  
   
He bent down in a rush and picked up the bag. He took it in his hands, examined it and opened it. The purple one would do. Just one. Only one little pill.  
   
He placed it on the tip of his tongue. He felt good all of the sudden, just because he was tasting it.  
   
And then, just as fast as the effect started, it ended. Just like that. That wasn't supposed to happen, was it? The effects usually lasted more than an hour, sometimes he still felt the effects after a day, when the dose was too much. What was wrong with this one?  
   
He remembered Victor was the one who gave it to him. Of course, of course that idiot would have bought the cheapest pills he could find, and they weren't working at all! Just like the one he took after the party, they _didn't_ work!  
   
Almost desperately, he reached for the next pill and put it inside his mouth until it dissolved. Nothing. Except...  
   
Maybe, just maybe his heart rate was accelerating. Which was good, it usually started like that. Then, his body temperature would raise, his mind would go blank and he would be in a completely different reality. Which was what he loved the most.  
   
He knew approximately which was the correct heart rate while taking the drug.  
   
Then maybe, just maybe, his heart was beating a bit faster than usual when high.  
   
Sherlock supposed that was perfectly normal, he hadn't taken them in a while, his body was trying to assimilate them. He looked down and blinked, the grass' color seemed more intense than usual. Good, they were working.  
   
But still not working good enough.  
   
He tossed another one into his mouth. Three, three was fine. Three is better than nine, which was his record. Temperature rising. He felt hot, he took off his jacket. It was a different kind of hot from the normal, the kind of hot the pills gave him was somehow...satisfying.  
   
He liked that sensation, so he took another one and put it on his mouth. His fourth one.  
   
He knew things weren't going exactly as planned when he started sweating. That was definitely not normal, it had never happened to him before when he was on pills. His heart seemed to be getting out of his chest because it couldn't stop beating, it moved faster and faster and faster and he couldn't calm it down, he simply couldn't.  
   
The heat that had filled his body was now gone and he felt as if he had been thrown into the snow naked. He started shivering, all of his muscles twitching uncontrollably and _what the hell was happening?_ He tried to calm himself down, he closed his eyes. He opened them again, the grass wasn't greener, the grass was grayer, everything  was grayer, everything was turning colorless.  
   
He heard a voice behind him, it was Hikes, Hikes was right there behind him, Hikes was asking him something, he knew he had to run away, but his feet didn't move, he knew he had to turn to face the man and reply, but his body couldn't stop shivering enough for him to do so.  
   
He closed his eyes again, clenched his jaw and his fists and managed to turn. But Hikes wasn't there anymore, he had never been there in the first place, had he?  
   
A playful voice called after him. _"Sherlock..."_ a hateful singsong he had grown accustomed to, yet not well enough. He turned and looked into those dark eyes, full of something he couldn't quite tell, something he hadn't been able to unveil yet. And the smile, that horrible, terrifying smile forming on his lips. He blinked.  
   
Jim Moriarty disappeared. Jim Moriarty had never been there in the first place, he knew it. But he couldn't convince his body of it, he started shivering harder, his heart beating faster, his head aching, he felt dizzy, he might be falling into the ground, he couldn't tell.  
   
"Unwise, brother dear." Mycroft was shaking his head, looking down. "Mommy and daddy will be very, very upset." He looked up and smiled almost mischievously. "But... They're used to it anyway, you've always been such a disappointment, Sherlock. A stupid, _stupid_ little boy."  
   
Sherlock was standing in front of his brother, but couldn't quite _see_ him, not exactly. He frowned and rubbed his forehead, it was terribly hot to the touch, and his hands were so cold they hurt.  
   
"My, oh my." Another voice said. "Look who fell down again." Victor smiled at him, his face getting closer and closer to Sherlock's. "I told you this would happen, because this, _this_ is what you always do. You come back to me. You will never give me up, not truly, not really, not willingly."  
   
Sherlock shook his head with the smallest bit of strength he had left. Victor leaned closer and closer, Sherlock could almost smell him, but there was something else to Victor's scent, there was the faint, slight smell of blood. And ground, and tires. And the sound of an ambulance approaching. "NO! NO!" Sherlock yelled. Or maybe he didn't, he couldn't tell what was real and what wasn't. He didn't know what he was saying 'no' to.  
   
He shut his eyes closed and the sounds stopped for a moment. He opened them again, he wasn't buried under the remnants of his car. He was kneeling over the grass. He looked up and the sky grew darker and darker.  
   
"Oh! So you were _that_ high you didn't even remember you were high?" A voice said behind him.  
   
No. Everything but that voice. He couldn't resist that voice.  
   
"John, let me explain." He heard himself saying. He turned and John was looking at him seriously, but differently. His gaze was ice cold, he was expressionless. He gave nothing away. The only thing his face showed was... hate. A deep and profound hate.  
   
"I hate you." John said, his voice sharp, without any hesitation.  
   
"No." Sherlock said, shaking his head. "You're not- you're not real! You're not here! That's not true!"  
   
John smiled, a bitter, almost painful smile. "I thought I knew you, I truly did."  
   
"You- You know me!" He found himself saying, reaching for John's hands, but the closer he leaned to the boy, the further he seemed. "You know me better than anyone else! What I like, what I don't like, how I think, how I feel..."  
   
"No, I don't." John said, his expression cold and stoic.  
   
"Yes, John! You do! You're the only one who ever has! I- I..." He didn't know what else to say.  
   
"Goodbye, Sherlock." John turned to leave, without any second thoughts.  
   
"No. Don't. Don't leave me. I can't- I can't do this alone. I- I love you."  
   
John shook his head and walked away, losing himself in the middle of the horizon.  
   
Sherlock shook his head too, and his breathing came fast and irregular. His heart was still beating faster, his hands were shaking uncontrollably. He felt dizzy, so so dizzy. An old rock n' roll song playing in the distance. _Roll Over Beethoven._ John's memory was everywhere.  
   
He was hyperventilating. But he didn't know what to do about it.  
   
He brought his hands to his ears, wishing to block the sound away. This was too painful, this was even more painful than what he felt like before taking the pills. An irrational fear took hold of him. He realized he wasn't shivering because he was cold, he wasn't that cold anymore, he was _terrified._ Absolutely terrified. And he had no idea what of.  
   
His headache was more and more intense, the song was louder, the breathing faster, the sweating heavier. He felt dizzier and dizzier, he couldn't form any coherent thought, not anymore, he couldn't speak. A tear streamed down his face. With one last glimpse of lucidity he thought _don't fall unconscious, don't fall unconscious._  
  
He closed his eyes, but he still couldn't stop shivering and sweating, his brain seemed to be turning off and on again and again. "What happened?" He heard a voice in front of him saying, a voice bending down to look at him better. He opened one of his eyes and John Watson was standing right there above him, talking to someone else. He looked so real, the most real Sherlock had ever seen him. "No, you're not real! You're not here! Get out of my mind! Get the fuck out!" He said desperately, or perhaps he didn't, he wasn't in control of his mouth anymore. "I don't want to hurt you, leave me. Just leave. I-I love you. Leave."  
   
But John didn't leave and John didn't understand what he was saying.  
   
He felt a hand touching his face, the voice filling his ears once again. "Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock!"  
   
He knew he wouldn't stay conscious for much longer. Someone picked up the plastic bag, but that was his less relevant problem, he kept shivering but his brain gave up working, he took a last look at John Watson and closed his eyes, internally apologizing to John for not being able to stay with him.  
   
\-------------------  
   
Next time he opened his eyes, he felt surprisingly comfortable. His breathing wasn't that irregular (perhaps due to the fact he had an oxygen mask on), and he wasn't moving anymore. He felt more relaxed. Better, alive.  
   
That until his ears started working again and caught the distinct sound of an ambulance siren. He opened his eyes widely and his breathing stopped being regular, he felt terrified. Worse than ever, half-dead.  
   
He tried to move his right hand but found someone was holding it tightly. He couldn't quite see, all he could see was the white ceiling of the ambulance, he couldn't turn, but he knew exactly whose hand it was. He felt peaceful again. The person holding his hand said something, but the ambulance's noise was stronger and he couldn't tell what it said.  
   
His brain was still not working, didn't want to react. It wanted to shut itself out of the rest of the world, it was as if his brain was paying him back for all the things he had done to it.  
   
He couldn't blame it for that.  
   
His eyes turned heavier, heavier. He had to close them, the white ceiling was turning black. That was never a good sign, he should listen to his brain just this once. His fingers on the right hand twitched a bit, but even that slight movement was far too much for him, he felt exhausted just by doing that.  
   
The ambulance kept sounding and the noise made him dizzy, it was too loud, it was far too loud. _Make it stop!_  
   
The pain and weight he felt on his eyes forced him to close them again. As soon as he closed them the noise became lower, and the siren now sounded distantly. The hand holding his moved a bit, the grip grew stronger.  
   
And the voice sounded loud and clear, above it all: "Sherlock, it's okay."  
   
His brain turned on again, for a single second, and his hand moved on to the grip, holding tightly the other hand.  
   
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, John."  
   
He slipped back into unconsciousness once more.


	32. Who Do You Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why? Just tell me why you did it, Sherlock?

_Breath in, breath out. There's something helping me breath. Am I alive? Yes, last time I checked I was alive. If I wasn't alive I wouldn't be feeling so... dizzy, broken, dazed? I'm in a hospital, obviously. Someone's here. I can't open my eyes, my head hurts too much. Righto. One eye. Just one eye... Fuck. Bad idea. Terrible idea... Wait. Someone's here. Someone's watching me. That can only mean..._  
  
"John?" His head raised immediately, at the moment he didn't care about his headache, if John Watson was here, nothing else mattered.  
  
The newspaper closed to reveal the face hidden behind it, hope left his eyes. "Your involvement is endearing, brother dear." Mycroft said sarcastically.  
  
Sherlock frowned, the headache returned, his eyes closed once again, but he needed to speak, so he wouldn't lose consciousness once more. "What are you doing here, Mycroft?"  
  
Mycroft tossed the newspaper to the ground forcedly and his expression showed so much anger repressed. "What am I doing here? What are _you_ doing here, Sherlock?"  
  
Sherlock sighed. "Nothing happened."  
  
Mycroft widened his eyes and smiled weakly, a expression which showed anything but joy. "Nothing happened. Right. So you didn't take pills once again, you didn't faint on the school garden and you didn't almost die. Absolutely nothing happened."  
  
"I'm fine." Sherlock grimaced while saying it.  
  
"I've had enough of this, Sherlock. God knows I've tried."  
  
Sherlock's eyes snapped open. "How did you know about this?"  
  
"John called me."  
  
Sherlock closed his eyes once again, at the mention of the name. _John._ He cleared his throat. "Of course he bloody did."  
  
Mycroft stared fixedly into his brother's eyes, like trying to dig a hole on Sherlock's forehead. "Yes, he bloody did."  
  
"Where is he?" Sherlock said, uncertain of whether he wanted an answer or not.  
  
Mycroft looked down. "That... is not your problem right now." He looked up once again. "Now... will you tell me who gave them to you?"  
  
Sherlock frowned and opened his eyes. "Gave me what?"  
  
Mycroft's expression changed, from angry to furious. Not quite perceivable to everyone, but Sherlock could easily tell. He was too busy feeling like shit at the moment to worry about his brother's expressions. "For God's sake Sherlock! Is everything a game to you?"  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about." Sherlock shrugged.  
  
Mycroft stood up suddenly, so sudden his umbrella slipped from his hand, and he was so angry he didn't even reach to grab it, yet his voice remained calm. "I wonder who it might have been-" He raised an eyebrow. "-who would you bother protecting from me?"  
  
"No idea."  
  
"Well, guess what?"  
  
"I don't guess, I deduce."  
  
"I deduced too. And I know exactly who it was."  
  
Sherlock tried to look at a loss, though he was sure Mycroft knew perfectly Victor Trevor was behind it.  
  
"And this time, _loving_ him-" Mycroft said with disgust on his face. "-won't save him."  
  
"Loving?" Sherlock snorted.  
  
"Yes, Sherlock. Loving. Unwise, unwise brother dear. That's always the same problem, you _care_ too much. When will you stop caring about him?"  
  
"I don't _care_ about him!"  
  
"Your actions say otherwise." Mycroft bent down to pick his umbrella and started moving it in the air. "Perhaps... I should ask John." He smiled mischievously while Sherlock's eyes widened. "Does he know about him?"  
  
"Keep. John. Out. Of. This!" Sherlock said angrily. "This is between you and me, Mycroft."  
  
"You, me and Victor." Mycroft narrowed his eyes. "Unfortunately this will always lead us to John somehow, don't you think?"  
  
"I do not."  
  
"Oh I do, because you see Sherlock..." Mycroft said, approaching his brother's bed. "Caring only destroys."  
  
"He doesn't care about me. I don't care about him. There's nothing connecting us anymore."  
  
"Sherlock, do you forget I _am_ the smart one? Do you think I can't tell when you lie?"  
  
Sherlock stood silent.  
  
"I hope you understand-" Mycroft returned to a stoic expression. "-I will have to tell mummy and daddy about this. Shame. They'll be so disappointed. I assume they're as exhausted of it as I am. Well, what can we do?"  
  
"What can you do indeed?" Sherlock inquired.  
  
Mycroft raised an eyebrow. It was the first time his brother pleaded him for something, but he remained as cold as stone. "I am getting tired of this, Sherlock. Let this be a warning, I won't take it anymore. Next time, you'll be off to the clinic and I won't change my mind." He  walked towards the door but stopped before he opened it. "Should I call John in?"  
  
Sherlock's eyes widened. He certainly didn't hold any hope that John would be there anymore. He dragged a deep breath and looked down. "...no."  
  
Mycroft raised an eyebrow, looking taken aback for a moment. "Alright, then. Goodbye, brother." He said, closing the door behind him and calling a doctor who could check on his brother.  
  
John was on the waiting room. As soon as Mycroft walked in, John stood up, looking worried, which was stupid, because the doctor had told them Sherlock was out of danger, but still.  
  
"He's awake." Mycroft said, taking a deep breath.  
  
John closed his eyes in relief. "How is he?"  
  
"He's fine. He's exhausted, but that's obvious... Where's the other one?" Mycroft said looking at the empty couch.  
  
"Oh, Greg went to his house to get some rest. He'll be back in a few hours."  
  
Mycroft nodded. Then his gaze turned in John again. "He asked me about you."  
  
"Did he?" John said, pretending to be nonchalant, but it wasn't working.  
  
"Yes. Actually, your name was the first thing he said when he woke up."  
  
"Oh..." John said looking down and trying to swallow down the knot on his throat.  
  
"He is awake at the moment."  
  
"Can I see him?" John asked impulsively. He didn't know why he had, and scolded himself internally for it.  
  
Mycroft fidgeted with his umbrella for a moment before answering: "I don't think that's a good idea, John. He needs to rest. "  
 _He doesn't want to see me._ John knew the answer as soon as he heard what Mycroft said. He cleared his throat. "Alright, then." He said, feeling a bit awkward, seating once again on the chair he was in.  
  
"John," Mycroft said with a sigh, sitting right next to him. "I do believe my brother needs to talk to someone."  
  
John cleared his throat and forced himself to look as serious as possible. "Well, he can talk to Greg when he arrives." He said sitting on the couch.  
  
 _Point made, he knows Sherlock doesn't want to see him,_ Mycroft thought. He realized his presence was no longer  desired, since John took a magazine and pretended to be reading. He was about to leave, but stopped and turned back, deciding it was best asking John.  "what do you know about Victor Trevor?"  
  
John lowered the magazine, his eyes widened and he stared at Mycroft with his mouth open. He didn't know what to say, couldn't find the voice. _Of course,_ he thought, _of course Mycroft knows._  
  
"...Not much." He said clenching his fists. He wasn't sure of what he could tell Mycroft and what he could not. "...He knew Sherlock."  
  
Mycroft rolled his eyes in a very Sherlock-like expression. "Yes, that's obvious."  
  
John nodded. "Yes. Well."  
  
"John?"  
  
"Yeah?" He said looking up.  
  
"He's in room 189." Mycroft said standing up to leave, knowing John wouldn't say much else about Trevor for now. He wasn't going to push on the matter at the moment. It was his own way of appreciating John's call. If it wouldn't have been for that call, the story would have been completely different. That boy was loyal to Sherlock, even after all the things that had happened between them, yet John still cared enough to spend the whole day there, waiting for news about Sherlock. "Or you may go, I'll stay here tonight."  
  
John nodded and Mycroft left. Room 189, he'd have to remember that.  
  
\------------------  
  
Sherlock woke up startled, the room was far too cold. He hadn't intended to fall asleep, he just needed a bit of rest. When he woke up, he realized the sun was shining through the long windows of the hospital room, so he had slept throughout the night.  
  
He sighed. It hadn't been a good sleep, his brain just couldn't shut itself down. It kept going, on and on. In his mind a thousand images passed by and it seemed like the part which was supposed to tell his brain to stop thinking was deeply asleep. He couldn't do anything, he felt trapped in his own brain.  
  
He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, adjusting now to the light coming from the right. He turned towards the window and looked through it. He was on the second floor. He knew from previous experiences that this floor was for patients on recovery who were out of danger. So no danger now. Good.  
  
He turned to look to the left and realized there was someone sitting on the chair in front of the bed. Mycroft, obviously. He didn't feel like talking to Mycroft right now. As soon as his eyes adjusted completely to the intense light, he realized it wasn't Mycroft. He sat up immediately, grimacing with pain. His whole body ached like he had been sleeping on a bed full of needles. He hissed but forced his mind to focus. He was able to produce one word, just one simple word, as a last resource to stop the pain. "John?"  
  
John swallowed down the lump he felt on his throat. "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you up." He stood up and reached for the door.  
  
"No. No!" Sherlock said a bit desperately. "...It's fine."  
  
John looked at him. "Oh. Right." He sat again on the chair and his expression changed completely, he was red, but not with shame, with anger. He clenched his jaw and Sherlock had to admit he felt a bit terrified of what the boy might have to say to him. When he finally talked, he just came out with a cold: "You are an idiot, did you know that?"  
  
Sherlock closed his eyes. This was something only John Watson would say, and he would have loved to hear it, except for the horrible situation they were in now. He felt guilty, he remembered the voice speaking to him and holding his hand while on the ambulance. He had caused far too much pain. "John..." He wanted to explain himself, but couldn't say anything, he was interrupted by John's voice once again.  
  
"No, no. You let me do the talking now." He said raising a finger of his left hand. "You are... The biggest _idiot_ I have ever met. I can't believe what you did. I just can't. Why? Just tell me why you did it, Sherlock? Do you really think your life is that meaningless?"  
  
Sherlock shook his head. "...I don't know."  
  
John clenched his jaw and kicked the little bedside table which was  placed right next to him. "You sure as hell did! Just tell me! I need to know!"  
  
Sherlock stood silent, how could he even begin to explain John all of it? It wasn't as if they were going to find some peace _together_ in the foreseeable future anyway, so why causing John more pain? He cleared his throat. "I missed them." He lied sharply.  
  
Or maybe he didn't. Perhaps he did miss them, but was far too weak to admit it. What he did know was that there was another reason behind it, a more powerful reason than simple need. Actually there were thousands of more powerful reasons.  
  
John laughed softly. That kind of humorless laughter which meant anger more than happiness. "You... _missed_ them?"  
  
Sherlock nodded and looked down. He didn't want to look into John's eyes, not right now.  
  
"Fine." John said, nodding. "Answer me just one more thing, Sherlock. Where did you get them?"  
  
The greaser considered what he should reply. He told himself things weren't going to get better with John as hard as he would try, because there was nothing to be done. So he might as well be honest with the boy for once in his life. He took a moment and finally replied with a raspy voice: "Victor."  
  
John closed his eyes for a second, feeling disgusted. He opened them again and stood up in a rush. He didn't care if Sherlock was weak or sick or anything, he had to say this aloud because _what the hell was Sherlock thinking?_ "Did he want to kill you? Because if that was his fucking purpose let me tell you he almost did it! Are you a freaking idiot? Do you just take everything he gives you? Do you just believe everything he tells you?"  
  
Sherlock didn't reply, a bit flabbergasted by the way John was talking to him. After a moment, he simply said: "I'm not your problem anymore."  
  
John breathed hard and kept his voice tone loud. "You never were my freaking problem! But that doesn't mean that I didn't care, that I don't care. Jesus, Sherlock! Do you think I just want to see you go and try to kill yourself? Do you seriously think that I would let you do that just because 'you are not my freaking problem anymore'? Then you haven't known me at all throughout all this time. Because I would have never let it happen."  
  
Sherlock cleared his throat once again. "I _do_ know that. And I _do_ know you. And I care too."  
  
John rubbed his forehead, as he felt an intense headache starting to develop. "Why don't you start by caring about yourself before you care about anybody else? That would actually take you somewhere."  
  
"Caring is not an advantage."  
  
"Yet you say you care about me."  
  
"And it has never done me well."  
  
John fell silent. Sherlock remembered his earlier conversation with his brother and grimaced, he felt a bit resented towards John for telling him. "Why did you tell my brother?"  
  
John looked up, quirking an eyebrow. "What?"  
  
"My brother. Why did you call him? I was perfectly fine. There was no need to do...all of this nonsense."  
  
John took a deep breath and his nose wrinkled. " _What?"_ He asked tilting his head to the side. "I called your brother because I thought you were going to _die_ and I didn't want you to fucking _die_ on me! Perfectly fine? Sherlock, you were half-unconscious! All of this _nonsense_ as you call  it, was the only solution."  
Sherlock stared at him. He didn't want to say any other word.  
  
John sighed and threw his head back. "I shouldn't be causing you stress. Hell, I shouldn't even be here, but I had to make sure you were fine." He moved the chair a bit. "I'll better go."  
  
Sherlock bit his lip. "No. Please don't leave. Stay...Just for a while."  
  
"I don't think it will help you recover."  
  
"It'd be the only thing that would help me recover." Sherlock said seriously.  
  
John stared at him.  
  
After hesitating for a while, John sat back on the chair. Sherlock closed his eyes, feeling somehow relieved with John's presence and all he could do was to whisper: "Thank you."  
  
John nodded even though Sherlock couldn't see him. "I'll just stay for a while."  
  
Sherlock hmmed and leaned against the pillow once again, keeping his eyes closed, not wanting to see the pain in John's face.  
  
He fell silent.  
  
After some time staring at Sherlock's face, which remained completely still, with his eyes closed, John thought it was appropriate to leave. Convinced that the greaser had fallen asleep once again, he stood up. As he opened the door, a tiny whisper behind him stopped him. "Do you love her?"  
  
Sherlock kept his eyes closed when John looked at him again, frowning and tilting his head to the side. He grabbed the chair and sat again, hating the bitterness in Sherlock's voice. "I-What?" The question had taken him completely by surprise.  
  
The greaser opened his eyes. A hurt expression fell on his face. "Sarah. Do you love her?"  
  
John cleared his throat. "Why- Why are you asking me that?"  
  
Sherlock shook his head. "I don't know."  
  
John fell silent and looked down. He didn't know what to say to that.  
  
Apparently silence was enough of an answer for Sherlock, who just sighed deeply and closed his eyes. "Right." He said.  
  
John felt terribly for causing _that_ expression in Sherlock. He tried to ignore it and slightly changed the topic. "Just, answer me one thing, Sherlock." John said, shaking his head, because hell, he _needed_ to know or he wouldn't be able to cope with any of this any longer.  
  
Sherlock didn't look at him. He kept looking down.  
  
"Does anything of what happened... at the party...relate to...what you did?"  
  
Sherlock took a deep breath and swallowed. He didn't want to answer that question.  
  
Apparently, silence had been enough of an answer for John, who covered his face with his hands, and all he muttered was: "Fuck."  
  
Sherlock bit his lip.  
  
After standing still for a while and not saying anything, John stood up and aimed for the door. "I...I have to go. Take care. Get better."  
  
Sherlock nodded, somehow relieved. He didn't feel like talking to John about whatever the hell was going on right now.  
  
John was about to hold the handle when he stopped there for a moment, considering.  
  
Sherlock couldn't hide the confused expression on his face when John approached his bed, leaning closer to him and placing a kiss on his forehead, keeping his lips there for longer than necessary. Sherlock closed his eyes, forcing himself not to cry. He didn't say anything else, but they were still so close and still.  
  
Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at the face in front of him, trying to store as many memories as possible in his mind palace. John's eyes color, the way his smile tended to lean to one side, his eyebrows, those weird movements he did with his nose. God, John was in here and Sherlock already missed him, being apart was far too difficult.  
  
John finally backed away and, clearing his throat and keeping his posture rigid, turned and opened the door. Before leaving, he looked at Sherlock one last time.  
  
As soon as the door was closed, Sherlock was once again left alone with his thoughts. He shut his eyes closed. _He loves her._ Sherlock could only think about it and the need for a pill was like a ghost coming back to haunt him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly reminder that comments are vicious motivators for me to keep writing and updating faster so please leave something telling me what you've thought of the story or whatever else you'd like to say, I love reading them! ;)


	33. Why Do Fools Fall In Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I thought you didn't have anything to do with me anymore."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your comments! They did work and although I had an incredibly busy week here I am giving you the next chapter! :3 Hope you like it! :D

"Evening." John said, standing straight and clearing his throat.  
  
Victor turned and raised an eyebrow but John couldn't see any signs of recognition on his face. The man just stared at him. "Have we met?" he said, pretending to sound serious and professional but failing miserably at it.  
  
"Yes, yes we have." John said, rubbing his nose. It was way too hard trying to hold back his anger towards this fucker.  
  
Victor's frown deepened as he checked John up and down. John couldn't help but feel exposed. "Are you buying?" he said in disbelief.  
  
"Nope." John said seriously.  
  
"Yeah, thought so. Then what do you want, nerd?"  
  
There was something in that quote that reminded John of a certain greaser some months ago. A greaser who was now laying on a hospital bed thanks to the bastard standing in front of him. John clenched jaw. "I'm here to give _you_ a message."  
  
Victor snorted. "You? A message to _me?_ "  
  
John nodded. "Yes. A message in behalf of Sherlock Holmes."  
  
Victor tilted his head to the side, just before his eyebrows raised as he finally recognized the boy standing in front of him. "Oh! You're his pet! I remember!" He smirked. "Tell me," he said, leaning closer to John with a look the boy could only describe as smug "how's little Sherlock doing?"  
  
That sentence was enough to make John explode with anger. Perhaps for the first time in his life, he didn't think, he just _did_ it. Next thing he knew, his fist was landing on Victor's nose. The greaser staggered back from the impact, closing his eyes.  
  
John clenched and unclenched his fist, feeling the pain of the blow.  "Better now, I can assure you." John wasn't quite sure whether it was a lie or not. Sherlock would probably hate him for hurting Victor but this was a revenge, wasn't it?  
  
Victor opened his eyes and leaned forward. He had blood on his nose and was staring at him with a fierce look on his face.  
  
John swallowed, forcing himself to remain calm even though he knew exactly what was coming. 0.3 seconds later he felt the punch on his face.  
  
John Watson had never had a fight before, and at the moment he felt his whole brain turning upside down inside his head, he asked himself why the fuck did people think that was a good idea. People were stupid. He was stupid.  
  
Victor's fist hit John so hard he almost fell and it really took him longer than he thought to recover from it. He had broken his lip. An unexplainable rage spread all over John's body and a moment later, he interrupted the greaser's laughter to grab him by the collar of his jacket.  
  
"Listen, you piece of shit," John said through gritted teeth.  
  
Victor's eyes widened and he stared at John, surprised.  
  
"next time I find out that you've given Sherlock one of your fucking pills, I swear I'll make sure to ruin you bit by bit. All this image you've created around you will be shattered to pieces. You'll be nothing, you'll be no one. Everything you've built will collapse and I'll stand back and watch you fall. Got it?"  
  
Victor smirked. "And how, exactly?" He asked curiously.  
  
John took a shot, begging to heaven it would work. "Sherlock has a mouth."  
  
Victor went rigid and his expression fell completely. That self-confidence he had vanished for a second, and behind the cold mask, he looked almost terrified. A blink of an eye later, he was the same usual self, or that same jerk John once met. "You wouldn't dare." He challenged.  
  
"Try me." John said, feeling quite proud of himself because his voice didn't betray him and remained steady and sharp.  
  
Victor clenched his jaw. He looked into John's eyes. "Do you think that's enough to scare me?"  
  
"I do." John said with a nod. "And it did."  
  
"Look at yourself, you're nothing but a nerd desperate to get his attention. Do you really think he would set his eyes on you? Do you really think you're worth his attention?"  
  
John hesitated for a second. He had to admit he had asked himself those questions before, and hearing them coming from someone as intimidating as Victor made him even more dubious. He shook the thought away. "At least I don't need to get him drugged to get his attention."  
  
Victor fell silent. He clenched his fists and John expected the next punch, but it never came. Victor looked at him with absolute hatred, but remained silent.  
  
John smiled weakly, he couldn't deny he was surprised he had been so brave. "You are warned Victor." John said pointing a finger at him. Victor looked down, thoughtful. "Careful."  
  
He walked away begging Victor wouldn't come from behind and kick his ass. He rubbed his lower lip, which was still bleeding. He could call this a victory, didn't he?  
  
This was the craziest thing he had ever done.  
  
And he had never felt more alive.  
  
And Sherlock would kill him if he found out about it.  
  
\----------------  
  
  
It took Sherlock a week to recover. A week in which he didn't see John again, a week in which his brother kept bodyguards outside his bedroom, a week in which Greg visited quite often, telling him about all the things that had happened in school while he wasn't there. Sherlock hated that small talk, but it was better than dying of boredom with the constant need of pills and an absent mind palace John Watson to soothe him.  
  
He couldn't find him anywhere.  
  
Seven months ago he would have never expected to be excited of going back to high school, but now he was eager to get out of that bloody, ghostly, dull hospital that had trapped him. So school wasn't much of a bad idea, anything was better than hospital. He already knew that but he didn't want to remember it and that was why he had ended up there again.  
  
With a sigh, he got out of the bus. It was that time of the year in which he felt exhausted about everything and all he wanted to do was to get some freaking rest but he felt under constant pressure of doing _better_ than before. So no rest, and if he could impress his parents enough for them to decide not to take him back to rehab, then he would have to work very _very_ hard to please them.  
  
Not that he wanted to please them, but rehab was an even more repulsive idea than hospital.  
  
_What are you going to do with yourself, Sherlock? After all of this is over, will you remain like this? Useless? Addict?_ Mycroft had repeated over and over again, and it appeared that it was that time of the senior year where college, future, work and life actually _mattered._ Last time he talked to Greg in hospital, he had told him he had already sent five different applications.  
  
And he had none.  
  
And he had no idea what he was going to do anyway.  
  
He didn't want to think about it for now, it was a boring thought, _future_ , as if there was such thing. Sherlock didn't believe in concepts like future or destiny. They were nonsense. He lived on the present and that was what mattered.  
  
Wasn't it?  
  
Monday. History class. John Watson.  
  
Better not to think about the present for now.  
  
The bell rang and with a groan of exhaustion (and just a little trace of debilitation left from what drugs did to him), Sherlock went to history class.  
  
\-----------------  
  
John was tapping the notebook with his pencil. He wasn't aware he was doing it so, he was too busy trying to play a rhythm with his feet. It wasn't like he was anxious or anything, of course not. It wasn't as if he was thinking of Sherlock or anything, definitely not.  
  
His breath caught when he saw the greaser walking in. He cursed himself internally for it. He shouldn't care, he shouldn't be feeling this whenever he looked at him, he really, really shouldn't.  
  
But he did. And right now, that was the smallest problem.  
  
Sherlock walked in with his chin up and that expressionless face he knew to do so well. His leather jacket was impeccable and his hair carefully combed. It seemed as if nothing had happened. John knew better than that of course, but aside from the bags under his eyes, there was absolutely no indicator that Sherlock had spent the whole past week in the hospital.  
  
He looked down at John and stared at him when he passed him by, but he didn't say a word and his face remained devoid of all emotion.  
  
John licked his lips instinctively, hating himself for it.  
  
He cleared his throat and tried very very hard not to think about the boy sitting behind him.  
  
He tried.  
  
"Alright then," Hikes interrupted his train of thought. "Today I'm going to reunite with each of you and talk about your final project. Remember that the second draft is due for next week, so you'll have this class to ask me questions or anything you need to develop it. Make the pairs and discuss as I call you one by one."  
  
John swallowed. Damn the moment he accepted to be Sherlock's pair.  
  
He heard a scratch of metal against floor, and he turned to his right to realize that Sherlock had moved next to him silently. The greaser was now sitting right next to John yet he looked as if everything was perfectly normal. He didn't mutter a word nor looked up to see him. He took out his Song Hits magazine and started reading it.  
  
John frowned. Sherlock tended to be unpredictable but he certainly hadn't expected him to do _this._ To ignore him so blatantly, as if nothing had happened, as if they were back at he beginning of school year.  
  
John swallowed his anger and cleared his throat. "You better put that down. I won't get another detention because of you." He said as coldly as possible.  
  
Sherlock finally _finally_ looked at him and stared for a while before putting the magazine down. "Fine." He said with a sigh. He sat up and grimaced with pain, John flinched at the sight of him like that.  
  
"Are you alright?" He asked before he could stop himself.  
  
Sherlock stared at him quizzically, tilting his head to the side. After a while he replied. "I'm fine." He said throwing a hand dismissively.  
  
"How are you feeling?" John asked in a second of weakness. His voice was so low he wasn't even sure he heard himself, but Sherlock did.  
  
He raised an eyebrow and just for a second, John caught a glimpse of a smile drawing on his face.  
  
Or perhaps he imagined it.  
  
"Better." Sherlock said clearing his throat. "Yes. I-" he pressed his lips into a thin line. "I thought you didn't have anything to do with me anymore."  
  
"I still don't, don't consider yourself so lucky. Just... Wanted to check up on you." He said with a shrug. His voice came out normally, as if he was talking to an old friend, and, in a way it kind of was.  
  
Sherlock smiled weakly and yes, John definitely couldn't have imagined such a perfect smile, so he smiled back.  
  
"You shouldn't have done that." Sherlock said, out of nowhere.  
  
John frowned. "Do what?" He asked confused.  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Face him alone." He said slowly, as if he was teaching a six-year old.  
  
John was caught off guard. His back tensed immediately and his eyes widened. "... I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
"Oh please." Sherlock said staring at him, deadly serious. "You know me better than that, John."  
  
_John._ His name coming from that seductive voice sent shivers all over his back. It had been so long. He ignored the sensation and shook his head. "I had to."  
  
"He's dangerous." Sherlock said, facing John completely, he reached a hand and pointed at John's still split lip. "Look what he did to you."  
  
"I know." John said with a smile.  
  
Sherlock couldn't help but smile back. The moment extended until it turned awkward so they just took their eyes off each other and looked down to stare at their hands. After a while (and terribly uncomfortable) moment of silence, Sherlock finally spoke up. "I- I- Thank you." His voice sounded desperate, helpless.  
  
John stared at him with a frown. Sherlock wasn't the kind of person who would be grateful about something, so there was something odd. "You're welcome?" He replied, at a loss of what else to say.  
  
Sherlock shook his head, his gaze going down once again, not facing John. "I mean it, for everything. Always."  
  
John bit his lips and stared at Sherlock for a while, "you're welcome, I guess, I don't know what else to say."  
  
Sherlock stared at his hands for a long time, thoughtfully, until he looked up and cleared his throat, "we should better..."  
  
"Yes, yes we should." John said, straightening his back.  
  
They discussed the project throughout the rest of the class.  
  
\----------------  
  
Hikes talked to them and said that so far they were doing quite well. They looked at each other and smiled slightly, feeling proud of themselves.  
  
As soon as the class finished, John gathered his stuff and picked up his bag. Just as he was going to leave, he heard Sherlock behind him. "John."  
  
John turned. "Yeah?" he said with a frown.  
  
"We have to finish the project."  
  
John nodded. "Right." He rubbed his forehead. "I had forgotten... If you want we can each do a part and join it later..."  
  
"I thought we had made a deal." Sherlock said seriously.  
  
John shook his head. "Yes. We _had_. Then you spent the whole week in  hospital. I don't know if that's a good idea."  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Shut up. Later today?"  
  
John's mouth opened and he stood still for a while, a bit surprised. "Chemistry club." He shrugged.  
  
Sherlock seemed a bit impatient so it was unlikely he would wait for him. Instead he just asked "Wednesday?"  
  
He should say no. "Yes. Wednesday, yes." _fuck._  
  
Sherlock smiled slightly. "Fine. I'll see you by the end of class."  
  
John swallowed and nodded.  
  
Sherlock left the room without saying anything else and everything John could think about was that he _really_ needed to buy a typewriter so he wouldn't need to go to Sherlock's house anymore.  
  
He got out of the classroom and went to his locker to get some of his books out, when he found Sarah standing right next to him. "John, hi."  
  
He sighed but smiled. "HiSarah." He replied.  
  
She smiled back and John could see it, and he didn't want to see it. He appreciated Sarah, as a friend. But just that. Yet she didn't feel the same way about him.  
  
He recalled talking to Molly about it on the party (that party he desperately wanted to forget), but she hadn't attempted anything or told him anything after that whatsoever. During the week when Sherlock was in hospital he tried at all costs to avoid her because he felt guilty. But now he felt guilty for avoiding her. It was just too complicated.  
  
John felt really bad for Sarah. He really, really wished he could feel the same way about her. But there was someone else always popping into his head without warning.  
  
She was talking to him. Whoops.  
  
He nodded and smiled, pretending he had heard her.  
  
"Really?" She said excitedly.  
  
"Sorry, what?" John asked confused.  
  
She rolled her eyes but without any malice, there was a huge smile on her face. "I just asked you to get a coffee with me after class."  
  
She kept looking at him and smiling, and John found he just couldn't say no. "Sure." He nodded.  
  
Her smile was huge now and John tried to copy her expression, failing terribly.  
  
"Alright then, I'll see you after class", she said.  
  
He nodded but then stopped. "Oh! No, I can't. I have chemistry club today."  
  
After the party John had decided he should better go back to chemistry club, because it was the best he could do.  
  
She shrugged. "So? I'll join you."  
  
John raised an eyebrow. "Really?", he asked surprised.  
  
"Yeah, I have nothing better to do today so..."  
  
John smiled and nodded. "Okay."  
  
"Good."  
  
"Yeah, good." John tried to convince himself.  
  
"So, I guess I'll see you after class." Sarah said smiling.  
  
"Yes." John said with a final nod and a smile, turning away.  
  
\------------------  
  
Sherlock has just had a brilliant idea for their project. He was sitting on the bench during lunch when suddenly this great idea popped into his mind. He raised his sight from the book and smiled. He had to tell John.  
  
When he looked around he realized there was no one around anymore, so he just stood up and went to the cafeteria to find it empty. He frowned.  
  
How long had he been reading?  
  
This kept happening to him more and more often. Sometimes he just got lost inside his own brain and lost track of time and even space.  
  
He didn't know yet if he really liked that or if he hated it.  
  
He started walking by the school. He looked at the clock hanging over the principal office's door. It was almost 3 o'clock. Lunch had finished an hour ago.  
  
No doubt why the school was empty, at this hour the only people at school were the teachers and the nerds who stood for...  
  
Sherlock turned immediately. "Chemistry club!" He said to himself.  
  
John was at chemistry club. He would be there for another hour.  
  
Oh well, what else could he do? He needed to tell John his idea.  
  
He opened the door of the classroom and all the heads turned towards him. Molly, who so far had been explaining an exercise on the board gasped and stood silent for a moment. John, who was almost at the back, was writing on his notebook, unaware of Sherlock's presence.  
  
The greaser ignored all the curious stares and moved towards the seat behind John's.  
  
When the silence extended for far too long, John finally looked up only to find Sherlock passing by him. His eyes widened and he frowned.  
  
Sherlock's eyes, instead of focusing on John, looked at the person right next to him, Sarah. He rolled his eyes and sat right behind John.  
  
Molly cleared her throat to get everyone's attention and started talking once again, albeit wavering a bit and with her cheeks blushed.  
  
As soon as Sherlock grabbed the seat, John turned to look at him quizzically. "Sherlock, what are you doing here?" He whispered.  
  
Sherlock leaned closer to John and replied "I need to talk to you."  
  
"Couldn't you just wait outside?"  
  
"For an hour? Are you nuts?" He said widening his eyes as scandalized.  
  
"Fine, what was so important that you actually had to come here and talk to me?"  
  
"I'll tell you later." Sherlock replied,  
  
John looked even more confused. "What?"  
  
But Sherlock didn't reply because his hand was already rising and Molly, a bit surprised, said "Yes, Sherlock?" She smiled.  
  
"Do you know anything about chemistry history? It would be quite helpful."  
  
"Please and thank you," John whispered to Sherlock.  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes.  
  
Molly smiled "oh yes! I do!" And she started talking and talking and talking, from the 18th century to the discoveries made recently. She knew a lot about it. Sherlock just stared at her and narrowed his eyes and John wondered if he was really paying any attention.  
  
When she finally, _finally_ finished talking about it, it was already 4:00, and everyone seemed pretty entertained, except for Sherlock who looked like he was dying of boredom.  
  
"Oh! Look at that! It's already four! I'm sorry, I got too excited!"  
  
"Obviously," Sherlock replied.  
  
"Alright then, so I guess that's it for today. I'll see you next Monday!" She said, turning her gaze towards Sherlock and nodding, as if the message was specially delivered to him.  
  
Sherlock stood up and grabbed his bag, John rushing right behind him. "Wait! Would you tell me what the hell was all that about?"  
  
"What was what?" Sherlock frowned.  
  
John shook his head, "never-mind." He looked up to Sherlock and the greaser had to admit he looked a bit irritated. "What was what you needed to tell me?"  
  
Sherlock opened his mouth when he heard a voice right behind him. "John?"  
  
John moved a bit aside to look at Sarah who was standing right behind Sherlock.  
  
"Ready to go?" She said with a smile.  
  
John nodded. "Yeah, just give me a second." He said, his attention turning back to Sherlock.  
  
Sherlock stared at him for a while, silently. John ignored the awkward silence that stretched between them and cleared his throat. "So, what was it?" He asked.  
  
Sherlock's mind had gone blank, he stared at John for a longer while before replying. "Nothing. Doesn't matter."  
  
"What do you mean doesn't matter?" John asked tilting his head to the side. "It was important enough for you to come to chemistry club!"  
  
Sherlock nodded. "Hm. Big mistake." He said and turned to leave. "See you on Wednesday."  
  
John stood still right behind him as he left.  
  
Sherlock got out of the classroom thinking of what a terrible idea this had really been. Right now, in retrospective, he had to admit that he hadn't arrived at the chemistry club just because he wanted to tell John his brilliant idea (which he had forgotten all of the sudden, and that was unusual, he never forgot anything), but because he wanted to see John. And once again, that was one huge mistake.  
  
He sighed. Damn John Watson and his lovely Sarah. He hoped the two of them would be very very happy together.  
  
He wasn't jealous or anything, no, not at all. Of course he didn't imagine Sarah kissing John and making him smile and him moaning her name and...  
  
Nope, he wasn't jealous.  
  
Damn John Watson. He could go to fucking hell.  
  
He wandered around the school with his hands in his pockets, until he reached the smoking corner and took out a cigarette, as soon as he took the first drag, he relaxed a bit. Not enough, but a bit.  
  
He closed his eyes and finished smoking. Hell, he needed something stronger. No. No no no no. This OD had been enough, just the thought of trying them again made his stomach roll. He needed something to keep him awake, with energy. A coffee would do for now, he didn't want any alcohol for a while.  
  
He walked towards the cafeteria he had once taken John. There were a couple of cafes nearer, but he liked that one better, so he walked, and walked and walked. Until a sight stopped him immediately.  
  
In one of those cafes nearby, he recognized John Watson immediately. And yeah, Sarah right next to him. They were sitting (apparently on purpose because they could have chosen any other table) right next to the window and Sherlock could see them clearly.  
  
He raised his eyebrow and told himself to stop looking, but he simply couldn't. Something kept him there, curiosity got the best out of him.  
  
And hell, he should have listened.  
  
Sarah leaned closer and closer and closer. And a second later, she was kissing John.  
  
Sherlock sighed. He had heard the expression 'having the heart in the guts' but he had never really experienced it. He couldn't describe it, but he certainly felt it at that moment.  
  
He left almost running.  
  
He hoped the two of them were very happy together.  



	34. Sincerely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Since when do they care?"

John and Sarah arrived to one of the nearest cafes, he didn't feel like walking much and further from there all he could remember was the cafeteria where him and Sherlock had been before, and they definitely were not going there.   
  
To be quite honest, John didn't pay attention at all to Molly's explanation of the history of chemistry because he was too busy thinking. During that time, he decided it: he was going to leave thing clear with Sarah. Even though he certainly didn't want to go back to Sherlock his mind apparently couldn't get rid of him and it wouldn't be fair playing with her.   
  
It was a shame though, because while they were walking to the cafeteria she looked so happy.   
  
A year ago John would have never seen himself in this kind of situation. Rejecting a girl who felt attracted towards him? He should be thankful! But, as it had been usual lately, Sherlock got in the way.   
  
And that was the understatement of the century.   
  
As they sat, right next to the window because there wasn't any other empty spot, and ordered their coffees, Sarah made conversation with John and she was such a nice girl to spend time with.   
  
But he had to stop her.   
  
As soon as they were given their coffees, John took a huge sip, burned his tongue, squirmed a bit, and when the pain passed a bit, he gathered courage and sighed. "Sarah."   
  
She stopped and looked at him, frowning.   
  
"Um, I'm sorry to interrupt you but I need to talk to you." He said seriously.   
  
"Am I making you bored?" She asked worriedly.   
  
John smiled a bit. "No, no. It's just...there's something I'd like to say to you."   
  
"...okay." She said warily.   
  
"Okay..." He repeated. "See, the thing is that I really like spending time with you-"   
  
"But..." Sarah said unsurprised.   
  
John knitted his eyebrows together, a bit in surprise.   
  
"The way you talked, obviously there's a 'but' following that sentence."   
  
John nodded. "But, I'm starting to think you might not feel the same way about me. I mean, I'm starting to think, you'd like more..." He faltered. "Ugh, I'm not good for this sort of stuff." He said, giving up.   
  
She chuckled a bit, all preoccupation suddenly disappearing from her face. "No, you're not." She brought her hand and placed it over John's, which was on resting in the table. "But, you may be right."   
  
John looked at their hands and heard a voice screaming inside of him "NOOOO. ABORT, ABORT!" He shook his head and said "the problem is, I don't feel the same way." He said softly, feeling like shit.   
  
Her smile vanished just a bit, but she seemed to be fine with it. "Yeah, I imagined that was coming."   
  
"I'm sorry." John said feeling guilty. "I really am, I wish it was different, you have no idea of how much I wish it was different, you're such a wonderful girl, but I just... I'm sorry."   
  
Sarah looked at him thoughtfully, after a moment, she asked curiously "are you in love with someone else?"   
  
John's eyes widened but surprisingly enough he didn't give anything else away. He merely replied with a sharp "no."   
  
She smiled. "Then I don't see the problem."   
  
"I do see it! I don't want to play with your feelings, Sarah!"   
  
"Okay I see the point." Sarah said calmly. "...but before you say anything else, can I do something?"   
  
He frowned, a bit confused. "Um, yes?"   
  
Sarah leaned closer to John, keeping her eyes fixed on him, John tried to keep her stare but it was a bit difficult not to say awkward. Next thing he knew, a second later, Sarah's lips were on his.   
  
He kept his eyes opened, surprised. It was weird. She was the second person he ever kissed, but it felt a bit different, a bit odd. He just couldn't focus on the kiss, all he was thinking about was about the fact Sarah was kissing him and how wrong this was and suddenly Sherlock's image popped into his mind but he tossed it aside.   
  
The kiss didn't last much, but felt like it had taken forever. When they finally broke apart, Sarah stared at John with a look he could only call of disappointment.   
  
"I thought it would work." She said, looking down.   
  
"Sorry." Was all he could say, and he really was.   
  
She shrugged. "It's fine, I guess."   
  
"I really wish it was different."   
  
"I know", she interrupted him, "but it isn't."   
  
"We can still be friends, don't you think?"   
  
She shrugged. "I guess."   
  
John smiled weakly and nodded. "Please. You're a really nice girl."   
  
She smiled back. "Sure." She said, sounding not very certain.   
  
That was it for the two of them and they both knew it.   
  
\-------------------   
  
Sherlock had said 'see you on Wednesday'. He  _had_ said it.   
  
So when Wednesday came and classes ended, and he waited for half an hour for Sherlock to appear and the greaser didn't, he started to get suspicious.   
  
He had said it. Just after chemistry club.   
  
He was getting anxious. Why wasn't Sherlock there yet?   
  
He started pacing from one side to the other, and when over 45 minutes had passed, he decided to look for him. Just in case the idiot had forgotten or something.   
  
He didn't look like he had forgotten though, when John approached him on the smoking corner. The greaser looked relaxed and cool and completely terrifying. If John hadn't known him better (and mind you, he didn't), he would've been scared to his deepest core, expecting the punch.   
  
In that moment he reminded himself of the huge distance there was between him and Sherlock. The greaser and the nerd. It was never meant to happen. He didn't even know why he had allowed it to happen on the first place.   
  
"Sherlock!" John said, almost shouted, when the greaser didn't acknowledge him at all.   
  
John was only received with a puff of smoke blown directly into his face. He didn't flinch, but he raised an eyebrow and clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to shout at the boy.   
  
Because Sherlock Holmes was acting like a fucking kid and John had absolutely no idea why.   
  
"What the hell?" Was all John could say after a long silence in which the greaser kept smoking and decidedly ignoring him. "Sherlock, we were supposed to meet today to do the project, remember?" He said, with the last remnants of patience he had.   
  
"Hmm..." He replied noncommittally.   
  
John expected a longer reply, something else but Sherlock, still not looking at him, grew silent and focused on his cigarette, taking it slowly. "Well, then? Let's go!"   
  
Sherlock looked at John with an icy gaze. John stared at him trying not to frown so he wouldn't give away his confusion. The greaser threw the cigarette into the grass forcedly and stepped on it, walking away, still not sparing a single look at John.   
  
John stood still, a bit shocked, but he reacted when he heard Sherlock's voice, more distant this time. "Are you coming?" Sherlock said, sounding serious, his voice deep and threatening.   
  
John followed him, still not knowing what was wrong.   
  
They stopped at John's car, Sherlock opened the door and sat on it. As soon as John stepped inside the car, Sherlock lit another cigarette.   
  
John coughed. "Do you mind?" He asked Sherlock.   
  
Sherlock looked at him, expressionless. "I do", was all he replied and he kept smoking.   
  
John took a deep breath and rolled his eyes. He was used to Sherlock being difficult, but today he was particularly impossible.   
  
An idea came to his mind.   
  
"Do you want me to put on the radio?" John asked, looking at Sherlock out of the corner of his eye.   
  
"No", was the sharp reply he received from Sherlock.   
  
John expected the greaser would say something else, anything, but he remained silent, smoking and looking out of the window.   
  
John narrowed his eyes, he didn't want to ask. He knew he  _shouldn't_ ask, but he had to know. "Is there anything wrong?"   
  
Sherlock simply replied "No."   
  
It was scary enough that Sherlock didn't feel like talking, it was even scarier than he wouldn't want to listen to music. John felt a sudden pang in his chest when he considered the possibility that Sherlock was drugged right now and therefore he wasn't talking so he wouldn't give himself away.   
  
John had read a lot about the symptoms the drugs produced during these last two weeks. Of course that wasn't related to the fact Sherlock was in hospital because he had OD'ed. Definitely not.   
  
When a red light forced the car to stop, John turned his head just slightly, trying to see something on the greaser, anything to help him put the puzzle together.   
  
_Pupils dilated?_   
  
_No, as green/gray/blue as always._   
  
_Moving uncontrollably?_   
  
_He does that even when he doesn't take them._   
  
_Anxiety?_   
  
_Surprisingly enough, he looks perfectly calm._   
  
_Depression?_   
  
_How could I know?_   
  
_Mood swings?_   
  
  
_Sweating?_   
  
  
_Shivering?_   
  
_No._   
  
_Dizzy?_   
  
_Doesn't look like it._   
  
_Rapid heart rate?_   
  
_..._   
  
John should have thought it better. He should have stopped himself. But he didn't. A part of him wanted to know, though. A part of him was desperate to know, actually. He reached a hand out tentatively and placed two of his fingers on his wrist, with a touch as soft as a leather.   
  
As soon as Sherlock felt the touch, he moved his hand as fast as possible.   
  
_Rapid heart rate?_   
  
_Yes. But it could be something else._   
  
"I'm not drugged", was all Sherlock said. He didn't look surprised, actually, his voice hid a pinch of disappointment.   
  
_That's exactly what someone on drugs would say,_ John thought.   
  
But he decided he would believe in Sherlock, just this once. He wanted to believe in Sherlock.   
  
"Right. Sorry."   
  
The greaser didn't reply.   
  
And that was all the talking they did throughout the ride.   
  
\----------------------   
  
Mrs Hudson's wide smile received them both, although they both looked terribly unhappy. "John!", she exclaimed excitedly.   
  
John smiled as he looked at her. It was nice that someone looked actually pleased to have him. Sherlock rolled his eyes and entered to the house. John, standing right behind him, placed a kiss on Mrs Hudson's cheek. "Hello, Mrs Hudson."   
  
"It's so great to see you here! It's been a long time! I feared the worst for you two!"   
  
The worst had happened to them two, but John didn't want to argue with her, specially when she looked like she was beaming with happiness. "Yes, it's been a long time."   
  
"I'll make you boys some delicious dinner!"   
  
John rubbed the back of his neck, feeling awkward. "I don't know if this is a good idea."   
  
She threw a hand dismissively. "Nonsense! You're staying for dinner John!"   
  
How could he say no to her?   
  
He nodded and went inside.   
  
A lot of memories flooded him as soon as he entered to that posh manor that had blown his mind when he had first seen it. He swallowed. He went up the stairs to the second floor, aiming for Sherlock's laboratory.   
  
But before he could reach it, he stopped in front of an open door and peered to find Sherlock inside, so he went in.   
  
This room was particularly fascinating. John had to bite his lip to keep his mouth from opening. The walls were covered in dark wood, giving the room a bit of a Victorian look. On the other end of the room, right next to the huge window panels, he found a sitting desk which looked like it costed more than John's house. But that wasn't the fascinating part. The fascinating part were the hundreds, no,  _thousands_ of books on the walls. They were everywhere: endless shelves of books, organized according to the topic and even a long stair to reach the most distant ones.   
  
"Are all of this  _yours?_ " John asked more than surprised.   
  
He knew Sherlock liked to read, but he wasn't expecting to find all of those books in a room he had never seen before.   
  
Most of all, he didn't expect to find so much variety: he found a whole shelve full of books in different languages, another shelve full of crime novels and even books about philosophy! It really was incredible.   
  
But the surprise came when Sherlock replied. "They're Mycroft's."   
  
John stared at him with widened eyes but Sherlock ignored him decidedly. At that, John cleared his throat and knew right away that the greaser didn't want to talk to him. Why? he hadn't the slightest idea.   
  
Sherlock opened a black case standing on the desk and it revealed a typewriter, no, the  _coolest_ typewriter John had ever seen. It really was incredible: the letters on the keyboard looked like they had been printed in gold, they could load a lot of sheets and the typewriter would automatically change them once one ended and they could even change the color of the ink! It really was the most incredible typewriter he had ever seen and he was afraid of laying a finger on it.   
  
Without saying another word, Sherlock brought a chair and placed it right next to the one of Mycroft's desk. John sat in there and the greaser took the desk seat and they started working on the paper. John spoke only to give an idea or two, at which Sherlock replied "hmmm" or "no". That was all the interaction they had.   
  
This was even more awkward than when they thought they hated each other. At least back then Sherlock had the decency to treat him like shit. Treating him like shit was better than feeling completely ignored and the worst part is that Sherlock seemed perfectly fine and normal with it and that just unnerved John completely.   
  
It was about 5 when the phone rang. Sherlock was focused and his fingers typed unstoppably. They were halfway through the paper already, which proved that even though they were a bit not good personally, they still made one hell of a working pair.   
  
Mrs Hudson went up the stairs and a knock sounded on the door. Sherlock sighed dramatically while Mrs H said "Oh sorry, I'm not interrupting am I?"   
  
John shook his head politely while the greaser kept typing.   
  
"Sherlock you've got a phone call."   
  
"Not now", was all Sherlock replied, sharply.   
  
"Sherlock-" Mrs H repeated.   
  
"I said not now!"   
  
"It's from your parents!"   
  
Sherlock stopped typing immediately but didn't look up. John looked at him with a frown, surprised at the greaser's reaction. "I'm busy", the greaser replied once again, but this time there was a hesitation in his voice he hadn't heard before.   
  
"They want to talk to you, dear!"   
  
"BUT I DON'T!" Sherlock replied, raising his voice and startling both Mrs H and John.   
  
"They want to know how you've been, that's all love." Mrs H replied, putting herself together. John could tell she was used to this type of outbursts coming from Sherlock.   
  
"Since when do they care?" Sherlock replied, looking down. John could tell how, almost immediately, the hand that had been typing quickly and efficiently was now shaking. He frowned, but couldn't seem to keep his eyes off the greaser.   
  
Sherlock realized that he was being watched, he turned to look at John for a moment, his face expressionless, and suddenly stood up. "Fine", he said with a sigh.   
  
John suspected that the reason why he had done that was because the greaser didn't want him to lurk deeper into his relationship with his parents and he couldn't blame him for it. Only Sherlock knew about his father's alcohol habits, about the fact that he hit his mom and him and even about Harry's tendency to alcoholism. That was such a private subject that he didn't want anybody else to find out because he knew they wouldn't understand. Hell, he didn't even want Sherlock to find out about it but the greaser did anyway without asking.   
  
Sherlock went down the stairs and a part of John was deeply curious on what he was talking about with his parents. Did they even know about his drug habit? they didn't seem like they cared much for him. Apparently work was more important than their own son.   
  
No wonder why Mycroft was the way he was.   
  
Which reminded him of the place he was sitting in. John's eyebrows raised and a pinch of curiosity invaded him. What if Britain's deepest secrets were stored right here?   
  
It wouldn't hurt to take a look.   
  
Well perhaps it would, if Mycroft found out, but they were already crossing the limits by sitting on his personal library/office so there wasn't much of a problem there.   
  
He looked around to make sure nobody was coming and crouched.   
  
He opened anxiously the first drawer of the desk. He was disappointed, he didn't find much more than some receipts about a handmade suit and an umbrella.   
  
He opened the next drawer but only found some pencils, pens, note pads and telephone numbers scribbled on them.   
  
John seriously thought Mycroft would keep more interesting things in there.   
  
The last drawer was bigger, it held some folders, but most of them were empty. John picked up some of them to peek on them but they weren't very important.   
  
Just as he was putting the last folder back on the drawer, an envelope which slipped from it and fell to the floor caught his eye. He picked it up and eyed it curiously. The corner of the envelope had a signature which read  _Violet Holmes._   
  
Was Violet Holmes Sherlock's mother? It seemed like the most probable option. He opened the already-opened envelope and read the letter it contained:   
  
_Paris, 1955._   
  
_Hello, darling. How is everything going over there? I imagine you must be quite busy, but I hope we can hear from you as fast as you can. About your previous letter, we apologize for not replying before, Sherlock had a break-down. Not much of a break-down since he has never felt good, but last week was particularly difficult. We were woken up by his screams, he kept yelling that boy's name, begging him not to leave him and as soon as we woke him up, he left the room sobbing and we didn't see him for three days._   
_We didn't have time to look for him, and in the end he came by himself, you didn't have to be a genius to know what he had been up to those three days. That's why we decided to get him into a clinic. It was harder than I thought, but he's handling it better, apparently. He's not talking to us but he never really has. The doctor told us he likes playing music aloud and he looks happy, even though the music is hideous. He doesn't socialize but he hasn't attempted to escape or find pills so that's a good sign._   
_We won't do anything on Christmas Eve. We had to delay the trip to Rome until Sherlock feels better, so you can keep writing to this address._   
  
_Merry Christmas, my dear Mycroft._   
  
_Love,_   
  
John read the paper with widened eyes, feeling completely bewildered. As soon as he finished, he put it down and started pulling the puzzle together.   
  
_Break-down. That boy's name. Pills. We didn't have time to look for him. Clinic._   
  
  
Fuck, fuck, fucking hell!   
  
It made so much sense right now. How on earth would Sherlock want to talk to his parents when they didn't even care about him enough to go looking for him after getting lost for three days? when the only solution they found was to shove him into a clinic?   
  
John had gotten it all  _wrong._   
  
For the first time ever, John understood. Sherlock  _suffered._   
  
The thought was overwhelming.   
  
"No, I'm not hungry, Hudders!", he heard the voice coming closer.   
  
And John should have but he couldn't react. He was too shocked.   
  
He looked up to find Sherlock walking back into the room.   
  
John was standing right behind the desk, the envelope laying on it.   
  
Sherlock stared at him devoid of all emotion, but as soon as he looked at the paper on the desk, his facade fell completely and those expressionless eyes filled with terror.   
  
"Wha- Where-", he cleared his throat. "...Where did you find this?" Sherlock asked, picking up the letter.   
  
John didn't reply. His brain was still working. When he finally felt able to say something he just came up with a "you went to rehab?", he said softly, still shocked.   
  
Sherlock clenched his jaw and his nostrils widened, the greaser looked  _furious._ "Why did you read this? Who do you think you are to be lurking in my house?"   
  
"Sherlock..." John said softly, trying to sound reassuring. "Your parents...they don't care?"   
  
Sherlock remained silent.   
  
"And you kept shouting that boy's name?" John said shaking his head. He looked down. "Jesus, Sherlock, what the hell did he do to you?"   
  
Once again, Sherlock's face fell. He stood silent until he replied, his voice almost inaudible: "yes." He didn't say anything else.   
  
John closed his eyes, not knowing what to say. It must have been hell for Sherlock. All of this was far too much for him to process and he couldn't bring his brain to actually do it. "I-I...", John thought about something to say.   
  
Sherlock stared at him and now his gaze was full of pain.   
  
John couldn't stand that look of despair, that look of utter suffering. "I-I've got to go.", he said grabbing his backpack and getting as far from Sherlock as possible without leaving the room.   
  
"What?" Sherlock asked, completely confused.   
  
"We- we can finish tomorrow, I... I'm sorry I can't right now."   
  
"John?" Sherlock replied, frowning.   
  
"I'm sorry, Sherlock, I'm so sorry." He said, shaking his head and leaving the room without looking back.   
  
The greaser stood alone in the centre of the room, unable to understand whatever had just happened. He stood still for a while, thinking, thinking about the vanishing silhouette walking out of the door and about that fear he felt deep deep down inside that his might have been the last time they talked.   
  
The thought was unbearable.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... truth is out. What do you think will come later for John and Sherlock? ;)


	35. Pledging My Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You have questions. Ask them or we're not leaving."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE read the notes at the end of the chapter once you've finished it! x

John wasn't ready to face Sherlock the next day because he didn't know what to think. It was as if, with finding the letter, John had found the last piece to the puzzle. Well, not really the last piece, there were still so many things he didn't know about Sherlock, but a central piece.

He didn't know if he should hate him for hiding things from him. A part of him _understood_. He understood how hard it was, there were so many things John wanted to keep just to himself, because he was too ashamed people would know, and he thought it might as well had been the same for Sherlock.

He had suffered.

It sounded so surreal.

But it made sense somehow. With that clue, John was able to put the pieces together: his parents didn't care about him, so he looked for a shelter somewhere else, and he found it in Victor, and then he somehow tried drugs, and that was his way of channeling the pain, and then he got lost: Victor and drugs and pain, all of those addictions looking for a way out. And Sherlock was only _human_.

He wouldn't handle all of that, no matter how much he insisted on saying he didn't feel things that way.

Still, he didn't want to face him, because it would have been too much to handle. He didn't know what to say. He had hurt him, he had broken his heart, he had _betrayed_ him.

History today.

Fucking fantastic.

Project due for Monday.

Even better.

He sighed and entered to the classroom, not wanting to see his sister before turning away, because he suspected she knew all the things that were going through his mind.

Sherlock was already in the classroom when John walked in. That was unusual.

John tried his best to ignore him but he just couldn't. There was something in Sherlock's face, in the way he grimaced when he saw him walking in, in he way he started tapping his feet on the ground and looked down. The greaser felt exposed. John could tell from just looking at his face.

He couldn't blame him for it.

Still, he wasn't ready to talk to him.

He nodded at him as a greeting and sat down. None of them muttered a word.

As soon as the class finished, John stood up and turned to look at Sherlock, gathering as much courage as he could, he took a deep breath.

The greaser kept his eyes fixed on his desk.

John cleared his throat. "Sherlock?", he asked, silently begging that Sherlock wouldn't be as difficult as the day before.

Surprisingly enough, Sherlock looked up and his eyes gleamed with something that John could quite tell. His expression was open and he looked so _unlike_ -Sherlock that John had to swallow before he was able to speak once again.

"...can we go to your house today? To finish the project?"

 _Oh god, yes._ "Yes", Sherlock replied almost immediately, standing up and grabbing his bag. "See you in the parking lot."

John nodded, unable to erase that silly little smile off his face. "See you." He said, while his eyes roamed on the greaser's back as he made his way out of the classroom.

\-----------------

There was something odd in John today.

He himself couldn't tell what it was. But there was something terrifyingly odd about him.

He was anxious, his mind was made a mess, he couldn't think properly and he kept checking his watch every few minutes unconsciously.

Of course it had nothing to do with the fact that he wanted school to be over as soon as possible.

Of course not.

Silly, silly thought.

When that freaking bell announcing the end of lunch and therefore of classes finally rang, John stood up in a rush and grabbed his bag, barely mumbling a goodbye to a confused-looking Mike Stamford.

He stood right by his car, pacing from one side to the other. He didn't know why, but there was this sudden impulse within him, this sudden _need_ to see him, to hear his voice, to lean closer and...

No, not that.

_Let's not think about that, please._

Sherlock arrived a few minutes later, with his perfectly combed hair and his heavy leather jacket.

The greaser didn't look up to John, he had tucked his hands on his pockets and he kept his eyes fixed on the ground.

He looked somehow _vulnerable_.

Beautiful.

Hideous.

John shook his head and smiled a bit. "...hi."

Sherlock nodded, mirroring the expression he had made in history class.

They went inside John's car while the boy frowned. What the hell was wrong with Sherlock?

He started the car and they didn't talk to each other the whole way towards the house.

Mrs Hudson smiled as she saw John and after saluting her, they went up the stairs. John was aiming for Mycroft's library but Sherlock, who was ahead of him, walked towards his room.

John frowned and stood by the door, thinking he wouldn't be welcome.

Sherlock didn't close the door so the boy stepped inside, tilting his head to the side.

As soon as he walked in, the greaser closed the door right behind him.

"Wha-?" John asked confused.

"We're not leaving." Sherlock said, not bothered in the slightest, sitting on his bed.

"What are you talking about?"

Sherlock _finally_ faced him. "You have questions. Ask them or we're not leaving."

John sighed, wondering if the greaser had lost his mind. He shook his head.

The greaser sat sulkily on the bed and crossed his arms. "Then we're not leaving."

"You know I can just open the door?" John said, pointing at the doorknob.

"You can try..." Sherlock said stubbornly.

"I will." John said walking towards the door but Sherlock stood up.

"I'm taller and older, I wouldn't do that if I were you." The greaser said and it should have sounded like a joke, except some thing in the way he talked told John that Sherlock wasn't joking at all.

He swallowed and crossed his arms, stubbornly. "Fine." He sighed.

"Ask, then." Sherlock said raising an eyebrow.

John fell silent. Now that he could finally talk to Sherlock he didn't know what to say. "I... Why were you mad at me yesterday?"

The sudden expression which crossed Sherlock's face told John that the greaser wasn't expecting that at all. Suddenly, his expression went back to stoic. He hesitated for a moment before replying, "it was the best choice."

"The _best_ choice?" John asked, a bit lost.

Sherlock looked down. "To get away from you."

"Why?" John found himself asking without thinking.

"Because you love her."

"I love who?" John replied immediately without second thoughts, after considering it for a moment, he remembered. "Oh... _Sarah_?", he asked surprised.

Sherlock nodded.

"Why are you saying that? How can you be so certain?"

Sherlock puffed. "Oh please, I saw you kissing her!" He said, and his face looked angry, or jealous, John couldn't quite tell.

"You...wha-?"

Sherlock stared at him, as if he was telling him _don't you dare lie to me_.

John's eyes widened. "Oh, you saw?" He asked confused.

Sherlock went back to expressionless.

John looked at him, his expression softening a little. "How on earth do you always happen to know everything?"

Now it was Sherlock's turn to look confused as hell.

"And to answer your question, no. I do not love her."

The greaser's face told John that it wasn't the reply he was expecting. "You don't?", he asked in disbelief.

"Nope." John said, shaking his head.

"Oh..."

"So you got it wrong..." John said smugly, with a smile on his face.

Sherlock shook his head. "No I didn't, I just didn't consider all of the variables."

"No you didn't, you got it wrong!" John said with a tiny smile, suddenly forgetting all the tension that had been building between them.

"Probably." Sherlock admitted, much to John's delight. "...won't happen again." He said, looking down.

"Great." John nodded and walked towards the door again. "Can we leave now?"

"No." Sherlock said decidedly.

"Sherlock...", John insisted.

Sherlock sat on his bed and patted John to sit in there and John's heart was threatening to get out of his chest. "Take a seat."

"That's definitely not a good idea."

"Just sit!", Sherlock commanded and with a sigh, John sat.

"Happy?"

The greaser's face suddenly turned serious and he looked down, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths. John leaned down a bit so he could take a better look at Sherlock.

After a few breaths, the greaser's head turned up but he still didn't face John.

"...I met Victor Trevor when I was thirteen."

John's mouth fell open. Was this really happening? Was Sherlock Holmes about to tell him the whole truth? It couldn't be. No. This just probably meant that he was going to get back with Victor or something like that. _Stop thinking and listen to him!_

"...I used to deduce people and my mother didn't like that so she took me to a therapist. Psychiatrist, is the right term."

The way Sherlock spoke was surprising, as if he was completely detached from what he was saying, as if he was telling someone else's story.

"He decided to prescribe me sedatives. _Sedatives_. I was numb all time and people used to think I was weird. But Victor didn't. He understood. He knew what I went through."

John clenched his fists involuntarily.

"Then suddenly, the doctor decided it was time for me to leave the pills. He just forgot to mention...they were addictive."

"Jesus, Sherlock." John said, shaking his head.

"But Victor made it bearable somehow. He was my first friend. He knew everything about me..."

 _And he could use it against you_ , John thought feeling a pinch of jealousy.

"...After some time I realized it was possible I had developed some feelings towards him... And him towards me."

John bit his lip. Feelings, as if Victor Trevor was capable of having such things.

"...and so we started. And he was good. He was better than drugs. But just for a while. He got new friends and he changed, but he was still my Victor, or so I thought." Sherlock said with a shrug. "But then I got bored again and I needed something, _anything_ , to get my brain to function! It was too difficult, too nebulous, I needed clarity, I needed action. I needed..."

"Pills." John said, surprised.

"He suggested them. I didn't know they existed. Not until then. He had met them because of his friends. I _needed_ them, or my brain was going to explode. So I tried them and..." Sherlock bit his lip. "I really thought I had it under control."

"When did you first go to rehab?" John asked, his voice just a bit louder than a whisper. His tone was soft and tender as if afraid Sherlock would just retreat and run away in any second.

"My parents found us."

"Us?"

"Me and Victor."

"Oh."

"On bed, together."

John's eyes widened. "Oh."

"Drugged."

"I see."

"They decided I had to leave him, they took me to rehab and then they took me with them to travel around the world."

"How was it?"

"Hideous. The worst experience of my life. I kept scratching my skin because I needed pills and they would never pay attention to me. Everytime we arrived to a new place first thing I did was looking for some place where I could find the little package. It was too much. I couldn't leave both Victor and the pills, how did they expect me to do that?"

"Why did you wake up screaming his name?"

"Because he was leaving me. I knew it. I knew I was nothing but his _pet_ ", Sherlock said with disdain and John suddenly _understood_. "A little toy he could play with whenever he felt like it, just like the others he had. But to me, it was different, and I couldn't even begin to imagine my life without him."

"So you got drugged to forget him."

"And then got drugged to get him back."

John shook his head. "Jesus, Sherlock."

"I was taken other two times to rehab, but it never worked, it didn't. It was agony, I had to face the same four walls, I felt trapped, my brain was draining and all I had was rock and roll music. And it healed me somehow, well temporarily at least. It's always temporary, isn't it?" His face suddenly lit up a bit, recalling an experience. "Until I met Scotland Yard."

"How did that happen?"

"My father allowed me to come back in here while they traveled, with the condition I'd be monitored constantly by the police so I wasn't getting drugged and causing trouble. There I realized that they were a bunch of idiots and they weren't doing their job so I did it for them", he said lightly.

John couldn't help but giggle a little at that remark which was so Sherlock-like.

Sherlock's expression turned dark again. "But not even that was enough, I always came back _begging_ to Victor. I didn't feel strong enough to be alone, I felt like I was nothing without him, that only by his side I'd be complete. He had it all: the sex and the pills, what else did I need?"

John shook his head, not knowing what else to say. All of this situation was unbelievable and stupid.

"The night of the accident..." Sherlock started a bit hesitantly.

John nodded, encouraging him to continue. Somehow, John felt like all the wounds left by that accident to his sister and Sherlock were healing. He was healing as well.

"...I hadn't taken them in a long while. And I broke up with Victor. I wanted it to be definite. Because he kept using me and using me over and over and over. I had enough. I gathered enough strength and I rushed out of there because I knew I would fall again if I stayed in there for any longer. That's all I remember."

John was shocked. He didn't expect to listen to that. He didn't expect Sherlock to be so unhappy about it. He didn't know what to say. The greaser kept looking down, silent, closing his eyes, haunted by memories. John knew that feeling, he felt it too, sometimes.

He only came up with one question, "why are you doing this?", John asked terrified, his voice low and soft.

"Because I _need_ you to know. You feel like you don't know me at all, don't you? Well, I'm opening the doors, I'm letting you in. I'm opening up."

"But why?"

"Because you need to know. It wasn't easy. I hated myself. I hated who I became. Until..."

"Until?"

"Until I met you." Sherlock said, still not looking up. His face hid a trace of wonderment mixed with fear.

John gasped. His mouth fell agape but he struggled to close it again.

"Look John, I know I don't deserve much, lest of all you. I've done nothing but cause you pain, I've made you suffer, I don't even know why you still talk to me. You've seen everything about me, my ups and downs, and after all I've said today, I can affirm that you are the only person who knows me how I _am_. It's not much, I know, but there's no one else I would ever trust enough to tell all my life to. Yet you've always been the exception to the rule, haven't you? The unexpected, the intriguing. The most incredible human being that I have ever had the good fortune of knowing.

"I know I don't deserve much, but I don't care. I want to make you happy. I want you to stop suffering. I can read you like a book, and your eyes tell me you're feeling blue. I want to be responsible for every smile that draws in your face. I want you to be happy."

Sherlock fell silent, so apparently he was done talking. John stared at him and assumed that the greaser was waiting for a reply, but he had absolutely no idea what to say to that. His brain wasn't processing it, it just couldn't be right. He rubbed the back of his neck and decided it was better to be honest. "I- I just don't understand what you're saying, I- what do you want from me?!", he asked sounding a bit frustrated because his brain couldn't just _think_.

Sherlock looked cool and calmed when he replied: "I want it all from you. Just as much as I'm willing to give my all to you."

John wished he could look like that, so relaxed, but instead he shook his head. "You really should stop listening to those silly love songs."

"I didn't take that from a song!"

"Then from where? From one of those novels you read?"

"From looking at you! From hearing you talk! From seeing the way you tap your fingers when you're nervous or how you clench your fists when you're stressed. From listening the way you hesitate when you're nervous or how you lick your lips when you're anxious! I just knew it when I looked at you! I didn't know it back there, but now it's clearer than ever. And I don't mind anymore..."

Something inside John's brain clicked and all of his thoughts were filled with a _RETREAT, RETREAT!_ "Stop it! Stop it right now! Stop saying all of that!" John said a bit desperately, wanting to hear more but not sure of how he would react to it.

"Why? Are you terrified you might feel the same way about me?" Sherlock said, now looking confident with himself. "Because I think you do, because I think that, even though you tried, you couldn't. You still can't", the greaser reached out a hand and pointed at John's forehead. "I'm right there, ain't I?"

"I just... I don't want to get hurt." John said, feeling defeated.

Sherlock leaned just an inch closer "I won't hurt you, I promise, more than ever, I mean it. I would never throw this away. Never. I've done it before, and it's too much to risk, I'm not going to risk losing you again."

"You can't promise that!"

"I can and I'm doing it!"

"How can you be so sure about it?", John narrowed his eyes.

"Because I love you, John!"

"Don't!" John said immediately, pointing at him. "Don't say it if you don't mean it."

"I mean it." Sherlock said extremely confident with himself.

John shook his head and looked down. He didn't want to look at Sherlock's face right now. "Don't. No you don't."

"Look at me."

John didn't look up.

"John, look at me."

John did and he found Sherlock's blue/gray/green eyes fixed on him. As captivating and seductive as always. "I've had enough."

"Of us?" John asked before he was able to stop himself, feeling a knot on his throat.

Sherlock shook his head. "Of fighting against this. It has always been like this for both of us, and I'm _exhausted_. I don't want to keep trying to turn my back to this and pretend that nothing's happening because we both know that we're dying inside. I can see it," he pointed at John's left eye. "Right there, your eyes say it all. So I needed to say it. Because I don't want to see you suffer and hell knows I've suffered enough. But not with you. I don't know how you do it but I'm not scared of loving you. Because I do. And I'm certain of it, more than I have ever been in my life."

John's mouth was open in surprise. He blinked and tried to put himself together but just before he could say something, all of his thoughts were interrupted when Sherlock leaned closer and kissed him. God, it had been so long. They had gone through so much. John thought right there he needed this, this tiny moment of peace.

So he let go with it, after the initial shock was over, he kissed him back, their mouths opened to each other. Sherlock's hands cupped John's face and John grabbed at Sherlock's hair.

It was so different from their other kisses, so completely different that John felt as if it was their first kiss ever, and it was _perfect_ , because this was filled with something, filled with hope, filled with certainty and John was amazed to discover he wasn't scared anymore, he didn't doubt, didn't hesitate, didn't even think, he just _felt_.

When they broke the kiss they were both panting, they stood there, their foreheads joined together. John closed his eyes, thinking that could stay like this forever. After a while, Sherlock started talking again: "So I'm sorry, for all the pain I've caused you. I've made enough wrong decisions for a lifetime. I have nothing to offer you, nothing to make you trust me again. All I have is a promise. All I have to say is that I love you."

John smiled. "Say it again", he whispered.

Sherlock stared at him, surprised. After a moment, he blinked and smiled back, he leaned closer and planted kisses all over John's face while he mumbled "I love you, I love you, I love you..."

John thought perhaps he had lost his mind, but he was as tired as Sherlock, he was exhausted of fighting against it. He had tried it all: stood apart from him, looked for someone else, tried to ignore him, but nothing worked. The greaser was everything there was in his mind, and surprisingly enough, he believed, but most of all, he trusted. He felt Sherlock was offering his heart, and he was not going to reject it, not again.

So he smiled as he felt each touch from Sherlock's lips on his face. He could do nothing but hold him, hoping it was showing everything he wasn't saying, everything he didn't feel brave enough to say yet.

He placed another kiss on Sherlock's mouth, this one not so filled with desperation nor need, this one was tender, slow, exploring.

As they broke, John looked at Sherlock with a fond smile on his face. "You're crazy", was all he could say.

"You wouldn't have me any other way. Who is the crazy one?" Sherlock said, laughing.

John couldn't help but laugh as well. "Git."

"Say it again", Sherlock said mockingly.

John shook his head. "You're insufferable."

"God I missed you", Sherlock said sincerely, with a smile.

"I missed you too, you big idiot." John said smiling back. "Now stop distracting me and let's do that project."

Sherlock groaned, frustrated. "Why do you have to be like that?"

John smiled at him, grabbing his hand as they left Sherlock's room. "You wouldn't have me any other way", he replied.

Sherlock smiled at him. "No, I wouldn't", he said decidedly.

John's eyes shone with excitement and Sherlock thought it was the most beautiful image he had ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so finally these two got things clear!!! I love slow burn but this was far too slow even for me! So thank you for being patient! What did you think? Leave comments! :D
> 
> As a present to you all for your loyalty, support and yes, patience with this fic, I've created [this playlist ](http://8tracks.com/thesmophorias/i-can-t-help-falling-in-love-with-you-1), which contains songs mentioned on the fic, chapter titles or just songs from the 50's which have inspired me, I'm pretty sure if you listen to it, you'll end up loving rock n' roll music as much as Sherlock does! Tell me what you think of it and if you'd like me to add any other song!
> 
> Once again, thank you all, I love you and I hope to finish Chapter 36 as soon as I can! ;)


	36. You Send Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Don't think", he whispered, "don't think."

Things had changed radically in a matter of hours. It had been so much that John didn't even know what to do. After they left Sherlock's room to go to his laboratory, they just focused on finishing their work. Sherlock played some rock n' roll music (which was a good thing, since he hadn't in a long time) and they talked about everything in the main time.   
  
They didn't discuss the fact they had just kissed and Sherlock had just told him that he loved him.   
  
John didn't know how to do it. He opened his mouth to say something but just closed it again, courage leaving him instantly.   
  
Sherlock sometimes stared fixedly at him without saying a word, and John just  _knew_ that Sherlock knew everything that was going through his mind, but since the greaser didn't bring up the subject either, it seemed like it was better shutting up about it.   
  
For now.   
  
They finished the work quite fast. As soon as Sherlock took out the paper from the typewriter, John sat right next to him and they read that last page, feeling pleased with themselves. They put the paper over the desk and suddenly John realized  of  how close they were.   
  
So things got awkward.   
  
John couldn't stand there without blushing and he didn't want to blush and he certainly didn't feel like talking to Sherlock so he just turned to look away and not face the greaser, who was decidedly staring at John's lips.   
  
The boy cleared his throat.   
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes, "stop it", he said.   
  
"What?" John  said, a bit surprised, still looking away.   
  
"It's frankly annoying to see your brain about to explode with questions about us. Stop thinking", he said calmly.   
  
"Oh, you're the one to talk!" John replied.   
  
Sherlock laughed and shook his head, leaning just a bit closer. "Don't think", he whispered, "don't think."   
  
The greaser took John's chin with his fingers and pushed his head up and their lips met.   
  
And John was amazed of how incredible it was kissing Sherlock Holmes. It was incredible because it always felt like it was the first time. Each kiss was different, each kiss was perfect in its own way, each kiss was able to speak volumes, to say everything they weren't saying. Each kiss was an opportunity, was a promise, was a  _finally,_ was a need, it was everything.   
  
But still then, John couldn't stop thinking, and God, he wished he would, but his mind just screamed at him:  _did I forgive him? What are we now?_   
__   
John shook his head and tried very hard to keep all those questions off his head.   
  
\----------------   
  
"I have thought about you all day", Sherlock told John as soon as they saw each other the next day at school.   
  
John smiled, walking towards his car. "Good, me too."   
  
" Mrs Hudson asked for you personally", Sherlock said, following him.   
  
"Oh? She did?"   
  
"Yes, she did. She's angry with you because you've come home twice but hadn't stayed for dinner even though she asked you to."   
  
"Tell her I'm sorry!"   
  
"Tell her  yourself. " Sherlock replied sharply.   
  
John smiled and turned to look at him. "Oh, I see", he leaned closer to the greaser and whispered in his ear, "you're trying to convince me to go home with you."   
  
"No. I'm telling you it'd be the wisest choice since you have to make it up to  Mrs Hudson."   
  
"So this has nothing to do with you?"   
  
"It does not." Sherlock categorically denied.   
  
"So you don't want to take me to your room and kiss me senselessly?"   
  
"I do  not. " Sherlock replied stubbornly, trying to keep his face expressionless.   
  
John shrugged. "Shame. I was expecting to do so."   
  
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Oh... Well if you insist..."   
  
"I do  not. " John said, two could play the game.   
  
"I think it's a good idea actually. A way of... Passing the time."   
  
"There are better ways of passing the time."   
  
"There are?" Sherlock asked surprised.   
  
"Definitely. So I'll just look for something to do in the meantime and I'll go to your house for dinner and to apologize to  Mrs H." John said, opening the door of his car.   
  
Sherlock closed the door forcefully just before John could enter and pinned him against the car. "Shut up."   
  
John looked at him fixedly, a bit stunned and excited by the greaser's response. "Make me!"   
  
Sherlock smiled. "In my house."   
  
John shook his head. "Nope. Bye", he said shrugging off Sherlock and getting into the car, closing the door and smiling.   
  
Sherlock went into the passenger's seat as soon as the boy closed the door, "how tedious", the greaser said, rolling his eyes.   
  
"What is?", John asked.   
  
"Dealing with you", Sherlock said with a smile.   
  
"So, your house, then?"   
  
Sherlock nodded, putting on the radio.   
  
"I have to stop by the phone box first, tell mom I'm coming late."   
  
"Just tell her you'll be with me. She loves me."   
  
\---------------   
__   
Next thing John knew, they were already in Sherlock's room. As soon as the greaser closed the door, he leaned closer and captured the boy's lips with his.   
  
John felt happy, truly happy, but somehow terrified. Scared of all the things that were happening right now.   
  
All his thoughts faded away the moment Sherlock bit his bottom lip.  Right in that moment, all those ideas invading his mind faded away and were replaced by a moan or something similar, John couldn't quite tell, everything was too foggy.   
  
Sherlock smiled into the kiss and it grew hotter and hotter. Next thing they knew, John's hands were clutching desperately at Sherlock's shirt, he didn't even know why he was doing it, he just needed the reassurance, the comfort, the trust.   
  
Sherlock took his jacket off and they wouldn't stop kissing, the greaser cupped John's face with his hands and went deeper and deeper until John's knees went weak.   
  
"...Oh god." Was all John was capable of saying.   
  
Sherlock broke the kiss for a moment and took his t-shirt off and suddenly John's brain snapped back to reality and he could do nothing but stare wide-eyed at Sherlock, his mouth open in surprise.   
  
The greaser saw this as a good sign, so he just reached to kiss John once again, but the boy didn't react. "John?", Sherlock asked, feeling just a bit terrified.   
  
"I- I..." John said.   
  
"What?"   
  
John shook his head and whispered, "I'm sorry, Sherlock."   
  
Sherlock mirrored John's expression, shaking his head as well, "What?", he asked, feeling scared, perhaps John had realized the huge mistake he was doing and wanted to stop all of ... whatever this was but he couldn't let it happen, he needed John, god, he needed John more than anything else right now, loyal, nice, reassuring,  _perfect_ John.   
  
"I am- I am not ready  yet. " John said, looking down.   
  
"You're not ready for wh-", Sherlock looked down and remembered he had taken off his shirt. "Oh, no, no, no! We don't have to do anything! I wasn't expecting us to do anything!", and he seriously didn't, hell yesterday he couldn't even imagine he was going to end up kissing him, he thought John was just going to walk away, but here they were. Sherlock leaned closer to the boy and gently touched his chin, lifting his head a bit. "We don't have do  to  anything if you're not ready. Seriously, I could wait for you forever."   
  
John smiled weakly at him and pulled him into another kiss, this time softer and nicer, trying to cool things a bit.   
  
That until Sherlock did that thing John just discovered drove him mad. He bit his bottom lip and all the boy could do was to grasp Sherlock's neck, urging him to go deeper in the kiss.   
  
After a second, John blinked and reacted, pulling away slightly and breaking the kiss. "Oi! That's not fair!"   
  
"What isn't?" Sherlock asked with a smug smile on his face, pretending to be innocent.   
  
"Don't. Sherlock, please." John said, more seriously.   
  
Sherlock bit his lip. "Sorry, love. I just  _love_ when you look like this...", and the greaser leaned closer to John and pushed him into a kiss that had the boy almost shivering by the end of it.   
  
John broke the kiss and they were both panting. His mind was dizzy for a second but after he recovered he realized that Sherlock's chest was still bare. Just because he didn't feel ready to do anything... sexual, he could still explore.   
  
He reached his arm out and his fingertips caressed the greaser's skin, it was just a gentle, soft touch and Sherlock's eyes immediately closed.   
  
John leaned forward and touched the bare skin again. Sherlock was cold and he was too skinny and he was far from perfect, but right there, sitting in front of John, he was everything the boy could have ever asked for.   
  
Sherlock opened his eyes and fixed his gaze on John, biting his lip. John looked up and they stared at each other, completely still and quiet, except for the fact that the boy's fingertips kept exploring Sherlock's chest.   
  
The greaser turned to look down then, still biting his lip, following the trace left by John's fingers.   
  
In that moment, the intensity of the whole moment astounded John: he had never lived an experience so intimate, so private, so deep with anyone else before. Their eyes, their touches, their smiles said it all, there was no need for words. Everything was perfectly unspoken.   
  
He smiled at Sherlock and his hand went a little up, his index finger caressing the greaser's right nipple. Suddenly, he threw his head back and moaned loudly. John chuckled and immediately covered Sherlock's mouth. "Shhhhh...!!!!" was all he said.   
  
As soon as John's hand withdrew from Sherlock's mouth he replied, "then don't do those things to me!"   
  
"Sorry!"   
  
"Don't be. It was perfect. Do it again."   
  
John smiled and leaned close until their noses touched. "Do what?", he whispered, his hand caressing Sherlock's chest again.   
  
Sherlock pulled him into a desperate kiss, a kiss filled with want, with certainty, but the boy was quite conscious that this was already crossing the line but oh that line looked so blurry right now and maybe he could just keep kissing the greaser forever, perhaps he could go down and grab...   
  
"Boys! Dinner's ready!", they heard  Mrs H. shouting from downstairs.   
  
John broke the kiss immediately and turned to look to the door, terrified, thinking that  Mrs Hudson would enter in any minute.   
  
Sherlock was now laying on the bed, panting and staring at the ceiling, rolling his eyes.   
  
John bent down and picked the greaser's shirt. "Get dressed!"   
  
The greaser shrugged. "What for?"   
  
"Sherlock! We're not going downstairs until you get properly dressed!"   
  
Sherlock sat up and smiled smugly. "Oh, I'd like that. Downstairs is boring, here is fine", he said trying to kiss John again.   
  
John moved his head, shaking it and placing the greaser's white t-shirt on his hand. "Dress up and we'll talk. I'll see you on the dining room", he said, placing a chaste kiss on Sherlock's lips and walking away.   
  
He passed by the bathroom just before he went downstairs and that had definitely been a great idea, because his cheeks were totally red and his hair ruffled. He took a minute until he looked better and went downstairs.   
  
"Evening, John Watson", he heard a voice hidden behind a newspaper, talking to him.   
  
John jumped and turned to find Mycroft, who was still reading the paper. "...Hello", he said rubbing his neck and praying all lords that Sherlock would come out of his bedroom with his freaking t-shirt on.   
  
Mycroft raised an eyebrow, eyeing him suspiciously. John had to swallow. "What do we owe the honor of your visit?"   
  
John rubbed the back of his neck, feeling terribly awkward and shrugged. "We're working on the history project".   
  
Mycroft's sarcastic smile was right in place when he next answered, "I think it's fair to say you've done enough work."   
  
"But apparently you haven't", Sherlock's voice startled John, the greaser was with his t-shirt and his leather jacket on and had combed his hair, looking as if nothing had happened, "why are you home so early, Mycroft?, I'm afraid Mrs. Hudson didn't make pie."   
  
Mycroft's fake smile grew wider. "Very funny. I thought I could come and spend some time with my little brother and his..." Mycroft's eyes examined John up and down and the boy felt completely exposed. "...colleague."   
  
"Partner", Sherlock corrected immediately.   
  
"Friend", John replied at Sherlock as fast as he could.   
  
"Best friend", Sherlock said with a nod and John smiled.   
  
The boy replied before he could stop himself, "Boyfr-"   
  
"I think we'll stick with partners for now", Sherlock cut him sharply and John bit his tongue, internally cursing himself for almost saying the most stupid thing in the world.   
  
Mycroft looked between them, half-amused. John remembered immediately that his...  _Partner_ had just moaned as loud as he could and he shut his eyes closed, feeling incredibly awkward, what did Mycroft think they were doing upstairs? Oh god...   
  
Mrs H came with dinner and they sat on the huge dining table.   
  
Mycroft didn't say much throughout dinner and Sherlock didn't either so it was on John's and Mrs H's hands to fill the awkward silence. They talked about everything, but as dinner passed, John found it harder and harder not to focus on Mycroft's intense stare on him.   
  
By the end of dinner, John stood up quickly, thanked Mrs H and took the plates to the kitchen. "I think it's time for me to leave", he said, feeling very uncomfortable.   
  
"John, may I have a word with you?" Oh, there it was, finally. Mycroft could have talked to him at the very beginning and save themselves all that awkwardness.   
  
"No, you may not", Sherlock replied raising an eyebrow at his brother.   
  
"Sure", John nodded and ignoring the greaser's glare, feeling a bit scared. By this point it was obvious that he had found out about his new...arrangement with Sherlock so they might as well have that big brother talk and leave it alone once and for all.   
  
Mycroft smiled mockingly at Sherlock before standing up and making a sign with his hand which indicated John to follow him, so the boy did.   
  
They went upstairs to Mycroft's office/library and closed the door.   
  
"Nice books you've got here", John said, looking around, pretending he had never seen this place before.   
  
"Oh, save your time, I know you were here yesterday", Mycroft replied seriously.   
  
John swallowed. "Sorry, Sherlock took me here and we worked but-"   
  
"That's not why I wanted to talk to you and you know it."   
  
John raised his eyebrows, pretending he had no idea what this was all about.   
  
Mycroft approached John and looked him up and down. "It's unusual."   
  
"What is?"   
  
"You are."   
  
"Why?"   
  
Mycroft's eyes narrowed. "What do you see on my brother?"   
  
"I- I don't know what you're talking about."   
  
"Please, John. Stop pretending I don't know you are back together. They all came to him either for sex or drugs, so what do you see in him?"   
  
"Fine. I'd start by wondering what he sees in me."   
  
Mycroft frowned. "I have to admit I had my doubts about you, John. Given my little brother's...  _History_ , I thought there was something you kept hidden, something which might eventually prove dangerous or harmful to Sherlock. But I never found it."   
  
John shrugged. "I don't have it."   
  
"That's what's so unusual. What was it then, that made you fall in love with one another?"   
  
"We- we're not..."   
  
"He loves you and you love him. No need to deny it, John."   
  
"Right. Can I leave now?" John said, feeling very, very awkward, he definitely didn't want to be having this conversation right now, or never.   
  
"I think I don't have to threaten you, do I?"   
  
"I think we'd both find that embarrassing", John replied.   
  
"So I'll just ask you to take care of him. And be careful."   
  
"Careful?" John said frowning, "why?"   
  
"It might come to your attention the fact that you happen to be a man and my brother is a man too. You know the consequences such tendencies carry."   
  
John had seriously not given much thought to it, but suddenly it became something to be  _very_ worried about. "Oh..."   
  
"I dislike being the one to say this, but you have to keep your love hidden. There is no other way."   
  
"No, I know." John took a deep breath. "Can I go now?"   
  
"You may go," Mycroft said with a nod.   
  
John turned to leave. "Right, then."   
  
"John?" Mycroft asked before John left the room.   
  
"Yes?" He said turning back.   
  
"Thank you. For  everything you've done for my brother. I have come to realize that he's better with you than without you. He needs you."   
  
John nodded. "You're welcome. Goodbye."   
  
\--------------   
  
"What did my brother say to you?"   
  
"You're the genius. Deduce it."   
  
Sherlock shook his head as they left the Holmes' manor, the greaser walking John towards his car. "I don't want to."   
  
"Then I won't tell you."   
  
"He knows, obviously. And he warned you. About me? No. You'd be wiry. About something, someone?, no, something. He's scared we might be persecuted for this." Sherlock finally deduced.   
  
John nodded. "Good deduction, yes."   
  
"Are you?"   
  
John shrugged. "No... I don't, I don't know. It's complicated. We just have to be careful, I guess."   
  
"It's not that easy." Sherlock said, looking suddenly worried.   
  
"Yeah, I know, love. But it's the only thing to do." John shrugged.   
  
Sherlock smiled widely, John frowned. "What?", the boy asked.   
  
"It's been a  _looong_ time since you last called me love."   
  
"Well, you better get used to  it. " John said with a smile, leaning closer to the greaser, their lips touching slightly.   
  
When they broke, John sighed, "I have to go."   
  
Sherlock smiled. "Don't. Stay here."   
  
"You know I can't, dad is going to be home soon!"   
  
Sherlock sighed. "Fine. But I'm not happy with it. I wish you could stay forever."   
  
John shrugged. "Me too." He kissed Sherlock, "see you later, love."   
  
"Bye, John", was everything Sherlock could say when the car took off. God this wasn't fair, he shouldn't be missing John like this, shouldn't be feeling his absence so deeply, he shouldn't depend so much on somebody else. Yet here he was, wishing with every bit of his mind that hours would pass as fast as they could so he can see his  silly face again and kiss it, kiss it as much as possible.   
  
\----------------   
  
Sherlock meant it when he said that he didn't want John to leave, but he honestly didn't expect to find him knocking on his house at three in the morning.   
  
The greaser hadn't slept all night, he was too busy thinking, he didn't even know what he was thinking, he just knew he didn't want to sleep yet.   
  
He went downstairs with a frown and Mrs Hudson was already walking to the door. The greaser hadn't reached the door yet when Mrs H opened it and he heard John's voice. "Sorry for waking you up"   
  
"It's okay, dear",  Mrs Hudson replied, yawning. "Are you-"   
  
"John? What happened?" Sherlock asked almost running towards the door and moving  Mrs H.   
  
John simply replied, "Can I come in?"   
  
"Of course", Sherlock said, hating the way John's voice wavered.   
  
"I'll make you boys some tea", Mrs H said walking towards the kitchen.   
  
As soon as John stepped into the house, Sherlock could see the boy had his lip split. He clenched his jaw and lifted the boy's chin, "did he do that to you?"   
  
John closed his eyes and nodded.   
  
Sherlock clenched his fists as he breathed heavily. "I'm going to kill him", he said walking towards the door.   
  
John grabbed him by the elbow immediately. "Sherlock! No!"   
  
Sherlock stopped and looked at the boy again, taking a deep breath. "Why?", was all he said. He couldn't quite put into words what he was feeling at the moment. He was terrified of seeing John like that, of seeing him in pain, he wanted to kick his father's ass and he felt the sudden need to hold John tight and pull him away from the rest of the world to protect him. It was both incredibly surprising and terrifying to feel something that strong towards someone. "Was it my fault?"   
  
"No, no. It wasn't. He, he-" John didn't know where to start.   
  
Sherlock grabbed his hand and took him to  the sitting room. John calmed himself down a bit and started talking once again. "Harry escaped tonight. She went to a party or something, and dad arrived home late and drunk. He didn't find her on her room and hit me..." John clenched his right hand as he swallowed a knot on his throat. "And he hit mom too, I had to wait until he fell asleep, mom wouldn't stop crying and I just... I don't know what to do", John looked down and he looked hopeless, "I'm exhausted, Sherlock."   
  
Softly, Sherlock reached out a hand a touched John's split lip, the boy flinched. "We need to take care of that first."   
  
They stood up and Sherlock took him to the bathroom. He cleaned the wound thoroughly but gently, while John kept his eyes shut and refused to say another word.   
  
Mrs H came some minutes later carrying two cuppas. "Do you want me to prepare the guests room?"   
  
Sherlock shook his head decidedly. "No need. He stays with me."   
  
John shook his head as well, "Sherlock, I don't want to bother any of you. I just needed to talk to someone..."   
  
"You stay. End of discussion. I won't let you go back to your house."   
  
John didn't want to argue. He nodded. "Thank you."   
  
When they entered to Sherlock's bedroom, John knitted his eyebrows together. "Your bed is perfectly made."   
  
"Yes."   
  
"You haven't slept?!"   
  
"I was busy!" Sherlock replied, rolling his eyes.   
  
"Sherlock! It's 3 in the morning!"   
  
"I. Was. Busy!" Sherlock said stubbornly.   
  
"You're going to sleep", John said sharply.   
  
"Nope.  _You_ are going to sleep. I'm going to think."   
  
"Nope", John said using Sherlock's voice tone. "If you don't sleep I won't sleep either."   
  
"John... I need to  _think!_ "   
  
"Then, I'll think with you", John said, crossing his arms. He still looked very sad about what had happened with his father and frightened, but this little domestic with Sherlock was too entertaining and kept his mind off the topic for a while.   
  
Sherlock didn't reply, he simply took his jacket off and got under the covers. John got in right next to him, but staying on the other side of the bed, feeling very conscious of what this meant. The greaser turned off the light. John closed his eyes and turned to the side, not wishing to face Sherlock right now.   
  
A second later, he felt Sherlock coming closer to him and slipping his arm on his side as he whispered "you are too far away."   
  
John smiled and intertwined their hands, all he could say was "Thank you."   
  
Sherlock hmmed behind him and breathed on his nape, making John's skin tingle.   
  
John felt a moment of peace in the midst of the hell that night had been, he let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding and shivered. He tried to fall asleep but he simply couldn't. His mind was a mess.   
  
He opened his eyes when Sherlock whispered behind him, "No, he has no excuse for hitting you nor your mother. You don't deserve it, you have been a wonderful son and he is just an idiot so please stop trying to justify his behavior, that is only making him stronger. Sleep, John. We'll talk more about this tomorrow."   
  
John felt the knot on his throat getting tighter and he shook his head, "I- I don't know", he said, his voice cutting a bit. "I feel like all of this is somehow my fault and-", the tears started running down his face. "It's not fair to her, she doesn't deserve it. Perhaps I do but mom doesn't."   
  
"You don't deserve it either, love. He's developed some imagined power over both of you, don't let him control you."   
  
"It's so easy saying it..." John said, trying to stop crying.   
  
"He should be thankful", Sherlock said with disdain. "He has a family. He should take care of it, not try to break it apart."   
  
John was shocked by what Sherlock said and thought about how lonely, how broken, how desperate for love the greaser was. He turned his head and kissed him. "Good night, Sherlock."   
  
"Good night, love." Sherlock said, squeezing his hand.   
  
There were no more words necessary. That was all John needed to feel better. They fell asleep, John feeling Sherlock's breath on his nape.   



	37. Ain't Got No Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "They know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New tracks have been added to [the playlist!](http://8tracks.com/thesmophorias/i-can-t-help-falling-in-love-with-you-1) Enjoy! :D  
> Friendly reminder that you can find me on [my tumblr](http://johnandsherlocks.tumblr.com/) x

John woke up to find his nose buried in Sherlock's neck. He felt the skin that was so close to him and breathed in. He felt the greaser's arms tightening around him, somehow they had shifted in their sleep and now they were face to face. Well, face to neck because John couldn't reach Sherlock's head.

Next thing John felt was the pain on his lip and he sat up, loosening from Sherlock's embrace. "Ouch", John said, remembering all the things that had happened recently.

Sherlock sat up right next to him and looked at him, worried. "Are you okay, John?"

John nodded as he touched his lips softly. "Yes, yes. It must look horrible though"

Sherlock frowned, trying to conceal his anger. "It does not. But he will regret ever laying a finger on you."

John turned to look at Sherlock. "Don't, love. I told you, leave things like this.

Sherlock sighed. "Fine."

John started giggling and Sherlock looked at him, frowning. The boy tried to stop laughing but he couldn't.

"What?" Sherlock asked, looking a bit annoyed.

"Sorry love," John said grimacing as his split lip started to hurt from laughing, "it's just... Your hair is curly!" The boy pointed at one or two curls that were out of place. He loved Sherlock Holmes but he had to admit he looked very very funny right now.

Sherlock's eyes widened and he stood up immediately. "I need to get the grease", he said rushing out of his bedroom.

John laughed until the greaser came back, looking decidedly better and it dawned on John how hot his... _Something_ was.

Sherlock seemed to realize the way John looked at him and smiled smugly at him. "Better?", he asked in that seductive, deep voice John found so irresistible.

John nodded slowly, looking at Sherlock up and down.

The greaser leaned down and held John's chin, lifting his head a bit and looking at his lips, "your lip is looking better."

At the sight, John couldn't help but lick his lips but Sherlock immediately shook his head, "no, no. Don't lick them, it'll take longer to heal."

"So you can't kiss me?", John asked disappointed.

Sherlock smiled weakly and placed a kiss on the corner of his lips. "I cannot.", he placed another kiss and suddenly his lips went down his jaw and down and down until they reached John's neck and then the greaser started kissing him thoroughly, John closed his eyes, giving into the incredible sensations he was feeling.

The greaser did something particularly incredible with his tongue and John bit his lip to keep himself from saying anything and suddenly he yelled with pain on his split lip.

Sherlock retreated immediately and stared at him wide-eyed. "You're bleeding." He said and ran towards the bath, he came back with a wet flannel with which he cleaned John's lip.

After cleaning John, Sherlock stared into his eyes and seriously said "so definitely no more kissing for a while."

John shook his head. "Better not."

\-------------------

John spent most of his day in the Holmes' manor. Mycroft had left early, Mrs Hudson cooked them some delicious food and surprisingly enough, Sherlock actually ate something which already was a huge achievement.

They spent the rest of the day on Mycroft's library. The day was too cold so Sherlock turned on the bonfire and they sat on the rug, reading books all day long. John ended up reading one about medicine and anatomy while Sherlock read some detective novels.

After a while, John sighed and closed the book, burying his face in his hands.

"What happened?", Sherlock said, closing the book and leaning closer to John.

"I... God, it just dawned on me: we're close to graduation, and I still have no idea of what I'm going to do with my life. I'm going nowhere, I don't even think my parents will afford it, I doubt it. I'll have to work. Perhaps I should join the army."

 _No. No. No no no no._ Sherlock shook his head. "We'll fill applications, John, look everywhere. You were born to be a doctor! Look, you're even reading a book about anatomy! I've seen the way your eyes sparkle when you're helping someone else. You're a healer. In every sense of the word."

John smiled at him but couldn't take the worry off his face. He opened the book once again and kept reading for a while. "What about you?", he asked, all of the sudden.

"What about me?", Sherlock asked, frowning.

"What are you going to do?"

Sherlock looked down and cleared his throat. He closed the book and bit his lip. Out of nowhere, he stood up and walked away from the room saying, "I'll ask Mrs Hudson to bring us some tea."

John sat there, confused, not quite understanding what had just happened. Sherlock came back a minute later and,without muttering a word, he sat on the rug and opened the book again.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock kept reading, his gaze focused.

"Sherlock!"

Finally, the greaser looked up and rolled his eyes, "what?"

"I asked you a question!", John said, not quite sure of what was going on.

"I _don't_ like it when you rummage into my life!" Sherlock replied angrily, opening his book and focusing on reading.

John knitted his eyebrows together, "you don't know what you're going to do, do you?", he asked.

Sherlock sighed, he kept his eyes fixed on the book but slowly shook his head.

It took a lot of effort for John to avoid biting his lip when he saw the greaser's gesture. He took a deep breath. "We'll figure it out. You'll see everything will be clearer once graduation comes."

Sherlock snorted. "I don't even think I'll graduate."

"What do you mean you're not graduating?", John asked, completely taken aback by Sherlock's remark.

Sherlock looked at John and tilted his head to the side. "Please, John. I only have good grades in history and it's because I'm pairing with you. I dislike studying, I hate receiving orders and I hate the fact those idiots believe themselves superiors just because they're older and they think they can just come and impose things on us. I don't work that way and you know it. "

John sighed. Sherlock was somehow right, yet he wasn't, he shouldn't think that way, he should just follow the rules without questioning them because that's what normal people did. _Well, he's definitely not 'normal people'. And to be honest, I don't want to be 'normal' anymore either._

"That doesn't mean you're not going to graduate. Come on Sherlock, there are just a couple of months left to save it all. If you quit..."

"Nobody would care."

"I would", John replied immediately.

"You wouldn't, you would let it go eventually until I become just a blurry picture on your mind. That's the way it is."

John didn't have a good feeling about where this conversation was heading, so he decided to shake his head instead. "We're not discussing this again, because you know you're just saying a huge amount of bullshit just to make yourself look good".

Sherlock simply shrugged, John giggled.

The boy turned to look towards the window and his eyes widened as he stood up hurriedly. "Shit!"

"What?", Sherlock said with a frown.  
  
"It's late, look, the sun is hiding!", John said looking through the window.

Sherlock looked down at his book. "So?"

"I have to go, Sherlock."

"No you don't."

"Yes, I do. This was lovely, I'll um- see you later."

Sherlock scowled. "Do you seriously expect me to stay here?"

"You can't come. At this hour father is most certainly home, do you want him to open the door to find his runaway son with a lovebite on his neck and his greaser boyfriend? not the best idea, is it?"

The greaser ignored John categorically.

John sighed and crouched in front of him, he placed a kiss on Sherlock's head before leaving. "See you on Monday, love."

After saying goodbye to Mrs Hudson, John went to his car and turned it on when the passenger's door opened and Sherlock got in.

"Sherlock!", John said, annoyed. "I said no!"

"I didn't hear you", Sherlock said with his eyes fixed on the front window, "now, let's go."

"Christ, Sherlock! I don't want to have more problems with my father!"

"He's not there. Let's go."

"How could you possibly know?" John asked, confused.

"Oh, John. You don't have to be a genius to know that your alcoholic father is decidedly not at home on a Saturday evening, do you?"

John looked down. "I guess not."

Sherlock kissed him on the cheek. "And if he's there, I won't let him lay a finger on you."

John smiled while he accelerated, silently begging that his father wouldn't be at home.

\----------------

"If he's there, you'll come up with the excuse, Sherlock."

"He's not." Sherlock said looking completely convinced.

John's mother opened the door just a bit so she could see who was there, as soon as she saw her soon she said: "John!", she opened the door wider and looked at Sherlock, then looked down as fast as she could.

Not fast enough for Sherlock not to see her black eye. The greaser clenched his fists once more.

"Sherlock, dear! It's been a long time since I last saw you!"

Sherlock nodded and John immediately asked, "is dad at home?"

His mom's face tensed up. "It's Saturday evening. Of course not", she said rubbing her nape.

Sherlock looked at John with a _I told you so_  expression.

The boy ignored it and asked, "where's Harriet?"

John's mom sighed deeply. She shook her head, closing her eyes. "I don't know", she whispered.

"What do you mean you don't know?", John asked, widening his eyes.

"She hasn't arrived home yet."

"But, mom! It's 7 p.m! She always comes back home early in the morning after parties!", John couldn't deny he had a bad, very very bad feeling about this.

"She hasn't arrived yet! and if your father finds out... Oh god, no."

Sherlock turned to look to John and then towards his mother. "We'll look for her."

"We what?", John asked.

Sherlock was already walking out. "We'll find her as soon as we can, Mrs. Watson."

"No, Sherlock, dear. Don't, please."

"I insist", Sherlock said opening the passenger's door and going inside the car.

John looked at the greaser surprised but he was right, they had to find her, something wasn't right, he felt bile rising up his throat, suddenly he was terrified, what if something happened to Harry?

He leaned and kissed his mother on her cheek. "We'll be right back. Love you, mom."

\---------------------

"I know where she is", Sherlock said, starting John's car.

John sighed and rolled his eyes, entering to the passenger's seat. He looked at Sherlock.

"Yes. I'm driving. I told you, I know where she is."

He turned on the radio and rock n roll music filled John's car.

Once the greaser started the car, John had to grab himself to the seat. "Sherlock! Slow down for God's sake!"

Sherlock didn't, and few minutes later, they were in front of a house.

"Were you spying on my sister, Sherlock?", John asked, a bit surprised.

Sherlock huffed, "don't be an idiot. How would I spy on her? I was sleeping with you!"

John looked away and blushed at the comment while Sherlock smirked.

"Then how on earth do you know where she is? what is this place anyway? It's close to Sarah's-", he stopped in the middle of the sentence.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, got out of the car and walked towards the entrance without saying anything else. He turned to look at John and yelled from the window, "Don't follow me. Stay in the car."

John frowned and stayed confused, sitting on the car. The way Sherlock said it, it was like he meant it, but what if his sister was in danger? what was this place anyway? he shook his head, took deep breaths and told himself that if in five minutes Sherlock wasn't leaving, he'd look for him.

Four minutes later, Sherlock came out. John heard the door opening and noticed two things immediately: Sherlock was biting his lip, his brows furrowed and his face red with anger. The second thing, his sister was leaning on him, half-unconscious.

John's eyes widened at the sight of his sister. He was about to get out of the car when Sherlock's eyes met his and warned him silently not to.

Sherlock put Harry inside the backseat with some difficulty, John turned to look at her, worried. "WHAT HAPPENED?", he yelled.

Sherlock looked at him and simply said, "SHHH!!!", a second later the greaser turned without entering the car, his body blocking the window so John couldn't see why he had turned, but he sure as hell recognized the voice that yelled at Sherlock.

"Aren't you staying, Holmes? What a party pooper!!!!"

Moran. John said, biting his lip. His sister was behind him, laughing, half-asleep.

"It's 7 p.m, Sebastian, the party ended twelve hours ago."

Moran huffed. "Really?", he laughed. "Well, that was some strong shit we got last night! I don't remember half of it!"

John closed his eyes. He turned to look at his sister.

 _Pupils dilated?_  
  
_Yes._  
  
_Moving uncontrollably?_  
  
_Yes._  
  
_Anxiety?_  
  
_Yes._  
  
_Depression?_  
  
_She does look sad._

 _Shivering?_  
  
_Yes._  
  
_Dizzy?_  
  
_Looks like she is._  
  
_Rapid heart rate?_  
  
_..._

_I'm going to kill him._

He stood up, ignoring all of Sherlock's warnings and without saying a word, he walked towards Moran who was laughing and punched him in the face. He stood in there breathing hard, Sherlock turned to look at him with widened eyes and jaw clenched, but before he could say anything, Moran recovered from the punch and, with his nose bleeding, smirked at John. "You piece of shit!"

John clenched and unclenched his fist, Sherlock glared at him.

Moran turned to look at Sherlock and his eyes widened. "You came with him!", he shouted. "Look at that! Getting a backseat bingo from the nerd, Sherlock?", he said, raising his eyebrow.

"Fuck you, Sebastian", was all Sherlock replied, but before he could finish the sentence, Moran was going to his house running and yelling "JIM! YOU'RE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE THIS!!!!"

Sherlock looked down, he then turned to look at John, his nostrils getting bigger and bigger. "What the fuck did I tell you? I TOLD YOU TO FUCKING STAY IN THE CAR!"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GET IN THE CAR NOW!", John said, running towards the driver's seat. Sherlock stared at him, surprised by the boy's reply, but a second later, went into the car.

John started the car and rushed as fast as he could from Moran's house. He took a deep breath once they were at a fair distance.

Sherlock turned on the radio and John clenched his hands, tightening his grasp to the steering wheel, he swore he was about to punch the greaser. He had absolutely no right to yell at him.

"They know", Sherlock said out of nowhere.

"What?", John turned to look at him, his gestures softening a little when he looked at the greaser's face. He still wanted to punch him though.

"Moran knows and he'll tell Moriarty and the whole school will know. It doesn't make sense. A greaser never helps a...", he hesitated.

"a nerd." John said, swallowing.

"Lest of all defends him. It's too suspicious. Even for their funny little brains."

John bit his lip. "Perhaps he won't remember, he was still... high", he said, sighing. Harry was in the backseat, looking completely knackered. She had her eyes open, but it was as if she wasn't there at all.

"They had never taken pills before", Sherlock thought aloud. "Why doing it now?"

They stopped at a red light and John turned to look at Harry, furrowing his brows. He leaned and touched his sister's forehead.

"She just needs to sleep the high off", Sherlock said.

John went back to his seat and looked at him, shaking his head. "How could they do this to her?"

"They didn't do it _to_ her, John. They all had the same", Sherlock said, doing that _don't be an idiot_ face that John really disliked.

The boy breathed hard, his anger suddenly coming back to him. "You didn't have to yell at me", he said, still feeling a bit hurt after the greaser had shouted him.

Sherlock remained expressionless. "I told you to stay in the car", he said slowly, trying not to burst in anger.

"I couldn't! God, Sherlock! It's my sister we're talking about, they _drugged_  my sister!"

"I told you, she'll be fine."

"I had a flashback", John said very very low, making it almost impossible for Sherlock to follow.

"A flashback?", the greaser asked, frowning.

John nodded. "To you. On school."

Sherlock had to look away and swallowed. He remained silent.

"How did you expect me to just sit there, looking at her like that? I had to do something."

Sherlock stared ahead, not saying anything.

"So don't ever, _ever_ expect me to follow your orders when someone I love is in danger, because it won't happen", John said, his eyes fixed on the road.

Sherlock bit his lip but didn't reply.

John remained silent for the rest of the ride.

\------------------------

Few minutes before they arrived back home, Harry blinked and started looking at her surroundings before yelling "THE FUCK?"

Her voice startled both John and Sherlock who almost jumped in surprise. Her brother simply shook his head while he replied, "hello to you, Harriet."

Harry grabbed her head between her hands and closed her eyes. "What are you doing?"

"Saving you arse, you're welcome", John replied seriously, he looked very angry.

"And you brought _him_?", she asked opening her eyes and pointing at Sherlock.

"What the hell did you take, Harry?" John said, clenching his jaw.

She closed her eyes. "I don't know."

"Harry." John warned.

"...just something they gave me. A purple pill."

Sherlock licked his lips instinctively.

John looked at him out of the corner of his eye and sighed. This was difficult, this was all too difficult.

"Why?", John asked, his voice so thin and sounding so vulnerable that Sherlock just looked down because he couldn't face looking at him.

"I... wanted to have some fun", she shrugged.

John laughed that kind of terrifying laugh he did when he was furious. "Fun." He snorted. "Well, I hope you had the fucking time of your life. Dad lost it and beat mom and I while you were just having fun!", he said.

"John", Sherlock said, trying to calm him.

"No, let me talk." John said to Sherlock. "I'm exhausted Harry! I'm tired of all this! You tried quitting alcohol and you ended up taking drugs. Fantastic. Great improvement. I'm so proud of you", he said mockingly.

Harry's eyes were filling with tears, which was saying a lot because she barely, not to say almost never cried.

They stopped in front of John's house but John didn't leave the car. "This is all on you, Harry. We can't help you anymore. I doubt you can help yourself."

"JOHN!", Sherlock shouted and the boy fell silent, taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself down.

Harry was crying but didn't say another word, she got off the car and entered to his house in a hurry. She didn't look like she had been half-unconscious just twenty minutes ago.

John started clenching his left hand into a fist, fighting against the tears that were threatening to drown him.

"Do you think it's that simple?", Sherlock asked seriously.

John remained silent.

"It isn't easy, John. You always feel on the edge. You don't want to slip but sometimes you can't help that sudden urge rushing all over your body, asking you for _more_. It's a battle against yourself. A battle you'll lose one way or another. So don't think she just goes around looking for trouble. She _tries_. Sometimes trying is not enough."

John couldn't fight the tears any longer. "I just... I worry so much about her... I don't want to see her hurt, I don't know what to do."

Sherlock took him into an embrace. John leaned his head onto Sherlock's shoulder, his tears falling freely over the greaser's jacket. "She'll pass through it. She's the strongest person I've ever met."

John actually smiled weakly. "I'm sorry", he didn't even know what he was apologizing for but he suddenly felt the need to say it.

"I know", Sherlock replied, loosening a bit from John's hold and placing a peck on the tip of the boy's nose.

"You'll pass through it." John said, all of the sudden, and he felt the greaser go rigid.

"I know." Sherlock replied after a while.

\---------------------

"What?!", Jim snapped, throwing his head back on the couch. He opened one of his eyes for a moment and fixed his gaze on Sebastian. "Did little Seb get into a fight?"

Sebastian was looking at him, ignoring the blood running from his nose and instead decided to shake him excitedly. "Fuck Jim, stand up!"

Jim groaned but finally stood up, feeling a little dizzy after last night's events. Moran went out the door hurriedly, Jim following him.

Moran stood in the door and clenched his fists. "I told you to hurry! I wanted you to see by yourself who came with Holmes!"

Moriarty's gaze flickered between the car pulling away by the road and Moran's broken nose. He smirked, raising his eyebrow and keeping his posture perfectly still and cool, as if he wasn't surprised at all. "Don't worry Seb, I know exactly whose car is that." His smile widened. "Time to start the game, don't you think?"


	38. Oh, boy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I used to think that alone was what I had. That's what I always told myself."  
> "You're not."

"John!"  
  
John looked up from the book he was reading about human anatomy when he heard his mother calling him. It had been a week since the day Harry escaped and things were slightly better. His father hadn't drunk all week, but it was obvious he was going to that night. John didn't want to think about it.  
  
"Sherlock's on the telephone!", his mom said.  
  
John stood up quickly and went downstairs as fast as he could. When he reached the living room he felt slightly stupid from running so much.  
  
"Hello?", John asked excited,  
  
He heard that deep and seductive voice from the other end of the line. "Turn on the radio", and he hung up.  
  
"Hello?" John asked, frowning, looking at his phone. Alright then, perhaps he expected a little bit more.  
  
He went to turn on the radio, it was 6 p.m, which meant it was time for the news broadcast.  
  
_The police concluded the investigation regarding the explosion at the fair. The study of the impact confirmed the suspicion that the explosion was the result of a gas leak, refuting the theory of an apparent attack. This report is produced two months after the accident at the local fair, which left over twenty people injured. We'll give more details as the investigation is revealed._  
  
He picked up the phone and called Sherlock immediately.  
  
"It wasn't an accident", was what he heard on the line.  
  
"But the police said-"  
  
"But the police is wrong!", Sherlock almost yelled. "You can't seriously believe that after receiving _threats,_ this was the result of an accident."  
  
"Coincidence?"  
  
"The universe is rarely so lazy", Sherlock snapped. "Something's wrong. I'll prove them it wasn't an accident."  
  
"Sherlock, you're out of the case", John said softly.  
  
"But I'm the only one who can do their job! Don't you see? It doesn't fit! They found the fastest way out to get the media out of their asses. They think it's true because they chose to believe it's true. But it's not."  
  
"Sherlock", John said, trying to get the greaser out of it. He remembered the look of sadness in his face when he told him he had been taken out of the investigation and he believed it was somehow a product of his resentment, he was stubborn and wanted to prove himself right. He usually did that. However, he didn't have the chance to stop him because as soon as he finished calling his name, the greaser hung the phone.  
  
"Damn!", John said, hanging the phone and sitting on the couch. He loved Sherlock, but he absolutely hated when he started acting that way, those moments when he thought no one could compete with his massive intellect and that alone was what he had so he went and had adventures on his own.  
  
The boy sighed, he definitely wasn't going to run after Sherlock. He hadn't been invited, he had been ignored. The greaser was now probably running out of his house with his leather jacket and his perfect hair and his cheekbones while John stood there doing nothing.  
  
He wasn't going to run after him.  
  
He definitely wasn't.  
  
Certainly not.  
  
He went upstairs with a sigh and laid in bed, feeling anger fill his head. He couldn't help but wonder what Sherlock was doing right now.  
  
\-------------  
  
The place where the fair used to be had changed a lot in the last month. As soon as Sherlock stepped into the area, he had a flashback to that day when everything was on fire and people were screaming and it was all chaos. He flinched and closed his eyes, willing that memory would go away.  
  
He remembered it all quite clearly. There were things he wished his mind palace wouldn't store sometimes, but he couldn't help it. The police had taken off the tape around the area and it was now an open space, the grass still looking black after the fire. It was completely abandoned. Sherlock clenched his fists, it was absolutely unacceptable that people just chose to believe whatever theory the police created. They deserved to be told the truth. The ones who had been injured at the explosion deserved it, even Victor deserved it.  
  
He walked all over the area, his eyes fixed on the ground. Not much unusual, it was all now empty, he looked around and saw nothing. He needed something, anything.  
  
He kept on walking over the place, unable to find much. He was about to give up when finally something caught his eye. He leaned down furrowing his eyebrows and stared at the weird shape defined on the ground, almost impossible to see. It was as if an object had been placed on it with strength, and object which had definitely been there at the time of the explosion considering the fact that the grass was starting to grow around it but not over the place where the object was placed, which meant that, whatever it was, it had caused several damage to the earth beneath.  
  
It had been by the time of the explosion but it disappeared with it,which could only mean two things: either the object had been very near to the explosion _or_ the object had been the cause of the explosion.  
  
Sherlock leaned down and examined the shape of that object. He observed it, the shape was somehow familiar. He had seen it before, but he couldn't quite tell what it was.  
  
He walked over the area and realized there was no debris from that object. Still lots of trash and things that were destroyed with the explosion, but not a clue at what this object might have been.  
  
That until an idea popped into his head. He lifted his head, surprised by the sudden revelation and ran away from the crime scene, aiming towards the police station.  
  
\----------------  
  
"That's not enough proof, Sherlock", Dimmock said, shaking his head.  
  
"It fits perfectly! The evidence is right in front of your eyes! It's the shape of a gas container!"  
  
"Yes, we know, we've seen it. But that doesn't matter. A gas container could have been owned by anybody. Doesn't mean it was the cause of the explosion, lest of all that there are criminal hands behind it."  
  
Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes, wondering how it was possible that people couldn't just _think_? "Have you seen them?", he said with exasperation, "most of the people who worked there didn't have the resources to buy such thing, have you seen the prices of those things? and even if they did they would be careful with their treatment enough to ensure that nothing will happen to it. Nope. This wasn't an accident."  
  
"Then what is your fantastic theory?"  
  
"They received threats! You can't just ignore the threats! This was deliberated. It was planned. We're facing a new kind of criminal."  
  
"Let me remind you that you are off the case, Holmes."  
  
"I'll prove it, I'll show you it couldn't have been just a simple accident."  
  
"Good luck with that, Sherlock."  
  
Sherlock was about to leave the police station when an idea popped into his mind. "The soil!" He yelled with excitement.  
  
"The soil?", Dimmock asked confused.  
  
"There must have been something that made the gas react spontaneously! But whatever it was, it was placed there. The mastermind didn't need to be there for the execution... Neat", he said with a tiny smile, thinking that whoever it was, it was a brilliant criminal mastermind.  
  
"So, you expect us to find a chemical element that makes gas react?"  
  
"I don't expect you to find it", Sherlock replied stubbornly.  
  
Dimmock rolled his eyes. "I'll keep you updated." He said closing the door of his office.  
  
Sherlock left, almost jumping with excitement.  
  
\------------------  
  
"I found the evidence", Sherlock said sitting behind John in history class.  
  
John didn't turn so Sherlock leaned closer and whispered to his ear. "John, I found the evidence."  
  
The boy moved away from Sherlock and turned to look at him. "Good. Good for you", and then turned back to face the chalkboard.  
  
Sherlock frowned, but stood silent as Hikes entered to the classroom. The class passed by without him paying much attention to the endless talking the old was doing.  
  
When finally, _finally_ the bell rang,John stood up and grabbed his bag, aiming for the door. Sherlock stood up behind him and took him by the wrist.  
  
John looked down to Sherlock's hand and up to the greaser but he didn't say anything. "Is there something wrong?", Sherlock asked with genuine worry on his eyes.  
  
The boy remained expressionless. "You tell me", was all he replied. He loosened his hold from the greaser and walked away.  
  
\-------------------  
  
By lunch time, Sherlock still had no idea what the hell was wrong with John. This wasn't supposed to happen, they were supposed to be _happy._ What if John had realized that he didn't want to be with Sherlock after all and couldn't find the courage to say it aloud? Sherlock closed his eyes. He didn't want to contemplate that option for now.  
  
He was sitting on the bench he liked to read books on, not even focusing on the book, but silently hoping that John would come and talk to him. The whole lunch hour passed by and John didn't arrive. The boy had chemistry later, and Sherlock smiled to himself, knowing that he would have to pass by the hall to go there.  
  
Few minutes later, John did. He turned to look at Sherlock and then turned back to look at the hallway, Sherlock rolled his eyes and stood up to grab him by the wrist.  
  
John looked at him with a frown and raised an eyebrow. Sherlock tightened his hold on him. "John, let's talk!"  
  
John sighed. "Fine. _Fine."_  
  
"Tell me what you're angry for."  
  
John shook his head, laughing slightly. "You still don't see it, right?"  
  
Sherlock's eyes covered with fear. He looked at John silently. "If you want all of this to end, then just tell me."  
  
John was taken aback by what Sherlock said for a moment, then he shook his head and went to sit on the bench, the greaser following him. "No, no. Sherlock", he said, his anger faltering a little.  
  
Sherlock sat and looked at him, confused.  
  
"I was worried as hell for you! And you just went there and did everything by your own! You didn't stop for a second to think if what you were doing was dangerous! You didn't stop for a second to think that you didn't have to do it alone!"  
  
"I- I...", Sherlock swallowed, "you mean yesterday?"  
  
John raised an eyebrow.  
  
"John, this is what I do. You should know by now. I run into danger, I can't help it."  
  
"Yes, but you shouldn't run into danger _alone._ "  
  
Realization hit Sherlock and his eyes narrowed. "Oh...", he took John's hand. "I'm- I'm sorry."  
  
John nodded, "well, you better be."  
  
Sherlock looked amazed, a moment later he replied, "I just... I've never had anything like this before. You know, the only relationship I've ever had, I was always running behind that someone, trying to catch him up, trying to be at his level."  
  
"I know, but I'm not that someone."  
  
"I used to think that alone was what I had. That's what I always told myself."  
  
John intertwined their fingers. "You're not."  
  
"Well, not now", Sherlock corrected and John smiled.  
  
Even though the boy almost begged Sherlock to go to chemistry with him, the greaser decided to wait for him while reading.  
  
Chemistry club seemed endless, all John wanted to do was go and sit with Sherlock, talk to Sherlock, listen to his stories, see those eyes gleaming with excitement while he told him how he found the evidence and... God, he was lost.  
  
He knew it, he had fallen. There was nothing to be done.  
  
Not that he wanted to do anything about it.  
  
The greaser greeted him back with the biggest grin on his face and it took all of John's will not to run and kiss him lovingly and fiercely and he was definitely lost.  
  
John smiled at him and attempted to do the most grown-up voice he could manage. "Want a ride home, young man?"  
  
Sherlock cracked in laughter while nodding, "if it's not too much trouble, sir."  
  
John motioned Sherlock to follow him and they went to his car.  
  
\--------------  
  
John spent the rest of the day (and of the week) at the Holmes' manor. He was genuinely happy there. He was far away from his father, he enjoyed Mrs. Hudson's delicious meals and he got to spend time with Sherlock. That was the best part, of course. They started spending all their time off school together, going for milkshakes, reading books on Mycroft's giant library, even listening to rock n' roll although John pretended to hate it. They enjoyed every second they had together because in school things were different, decidedly different.  
  
They ignored each other, they only saw each other on history class and even then it was frustrating to be so close to one another and pretend they weren't even friends. Sherlock would occasionally throw him a glance when they saw each other on the hallways and John would just reply with a nod or a weak smile, but other than that they stood as apart from each other as they could. Sherlock was still a greaser and John was still a nerd after all.  
  
_You have to keep your love hidden_ , Mycroft had said, and he was so right.  
  
Sherlock still spent most of his time with Jim, Sebastian and Greg. Greg had found out that they were... _together_ again and he was perfectly okay with it, but Sebastian and Jim were a whole different story.  
  
Since the day of the party, Moran barely talked to Sherlock. Perhaps he didn't remember anything, since he was as high as a kite, but probably he just preferred to ignore the topic, which would explain why he kept his distance and the contact with Sherlock. Jim was the same as always, trying to get Sherlock's attention. The greaser was a bit surprised to see that they weren't spreading the rumor everywhere, but things were somehow... Different, as if keeping their little secret had a price, a price that had yet to remain unknown.  
  
John just spent time with Mike occasionally. Mike didn't know anything of course, he didn't like saying much about his life. He had to admit he disliked being on his own, so Mike was the closest thing to a friend he had.  
  
So every time Sherlock and John had together, they made the best of of it. They spent hours and hours just talking, about their days, their works, their situations, their problems... John was finally feeling he was getting to know Sherlock and God he was so happy he did, it was a privilege, hearing Sherlock talking about his past, his secrets, his desires... He hoped deep inside that he was the only one who had ever gotten so close to him, who had gotten to know him so deeply and personally.  
  
Besides talking to each other, they also got to kiss each other, a lot. And that was the best part of it all. There was something so intimate about getting to kiss each other, to touch, to hold.  
  
On Friday afternoon, John, as usual, went to Sherlock's house. His mother loved their friendship, John was still not so sure why, perhaps because he was the first true... Friend he had.  
  
Mrs. Hudson received them with lunch and while they sat, their arms brushing, Sherlock started moving his legs playfully, catching John's with his own and smiling silently.  
  
That until John had enough and kicked him on the back of his leg. Sherlock glared at him and kept eating in silence, trying to look serious and offended but failing miserably at it and smiling slightly instead.  
  
They went upstairs, but instead of heading to Mycroft's _office_ or Sherlock's laboratory, the greaser grabbed John by the hand and took him to his room.  
  
They sat on the bed, John's head on Sherlock's shoulder, holding into an embrace. The boy closed his eyes and smiled, humming.  
  
Sherlock placed a kiss on his head and John turned his head up. The greaser leaned closer and their lips met, John cupping Sherlock's face with his hands.  
  
They laid down in bed, their chests touching, kissing and grabbing and holding onto each other, and John thought this was exactly what he wanted, that he could kiss Sherlock Holmes for the rest of his life.  
  
John moved just a little bit closer, if it was even possible, he shifted a bit until he was more comfortable, and while doing it so, his knee touched... A certain place on Sherlock which made the greaser moan audibly immediately.  
  
Suddenly terrified, John pulled away but kept kissing him, hoping that the greaser hadn't seen his uncertainty. As he closed his eyes a thought landed on him: how incredibly perfect was that sound Sherlock had made, and he definitely, certainly, wanted to hear it again. He could feel chills all over his body just by remembering that sound.  
  
John pulled away slightly, keeping their foreheads together. He bit his lip, took a deep breath, gathered all the courage he could, and brought his hand down.  
  
Sherlock gasped and closed his eyes as soon as he felt John's hand on his crotch. After that moment of numbness, a thought popped into his mind: _what the hell had John just done?_  
  
He reached his own hand down to take John's. The boy's eyes met his with uncertainty and a glimpse of fear on them. "You don't have to do this", Sherlock said.  
  
John looked into those impossibly gray/green/blue eyes. Those eyes which seemed to hold all of the secrets of the universe, and he just _knew._ He wanted to see those eyes filled with pleasure. He trusted Sherlock.  
  
_He trusted Sherlock_ , which was silly because he had never been so battered and humiliated and hurt by anybody else before, but also he had never felt so loved, so useful, so important to someone else. And God, he loved Sherlock, he loved him and hated him for making him feel all those feelings, for changing his plans completely, for fixing him, for breaking him, for everything, he loved him.  
  
"I want to", John replied seriously, with certainty in his voice.  
  
Sherlock smiled slightly and leaned closer, so they were kissing again.  
  
As the kiss turned more and more heated, John brought his hand down and palmed Sherlock's cock through his pants. He was already half-hard. John smiled to himself, _he_ was the one making him feel that way, and God he wanted to make him feel that way for the rest of his life.  
  
Sherlock moaned again and rocked his hips just a bit towards John's hand, his other hand reaching for John's nape, keeping him there.  
  
John was nervous. It was stupid because there was no one in the world he trusted more than Sherlock, but he was inexperienced, he hadn't done it before, well, not to anybody else. He knew what he was getting himself into, he knew this was a huge step in their relationship. He dragged a deep breath and slowly, trying to control the tremor on his hand, he unbuttoned Sherlock's jeans.  
  
Sherlock was nervous. It was stupid because he had done this a lot of times before, he had been done this to a lot of times before, but this was John. Brilliant, smart, incredible John, wanting to make him happy, _wishing_ to make him happy. He kissed John tenderly and silently wondered how on earth he could be so lucky to find him. He didn't deserve him. He didn't deserve to be kissing John Watson. He didn't deserve to be touched by John Watson.  
  
All his thoughts faded away when John unbuttoned his jeans.  
  
It was irrational, John hadn't even begun doing anything and he was already a panting mess. It didn't make sense, how could John make him feel things with such intensity? He didn't know what to do so he just kept on kissing him and kissing him.  
  
John's hand was shaking a bit, but he felt confident around Sherlock, so he dared and slowly slipped his hand inside the greaser's pants.  
  
Sherlock opened his mouth but no sound came out of it.  
  
John smiled a bit into the kiss, surprised of Sherlock's response. He wrapped his hand around the greaser's cock. It was different, in so many ways. John felt a lot of different things, but a thought was clouding his mind, a thought he couldn't even put a name to, it was making everything else foggy.  
  
John broke the kiss and met Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock stared down and then looked up to see John, his pupils were dilated and his eyes were widened. John took a second to admire his whole face, his cheekbones, his lips, god, Sherlock was _perfect,_ Sherlock was incredible, Sherlock was... "beautiful."  
  
Sherlock frowned for a moment, and then smiled weakly at him, licking his lips.  
  
John looked at him once again, and as slowly as he could, he stroked.  
  
He saw how Sherlock's eyes closed and his head leaned back. John kept his eyes on him and stroked again and again, admiring the way Sherlock's hips jerked whenever he moved his hands.  
  
Sherlock kept his hand on the back on John's neck, caressing his neck and his hair, John leaned forward so their foreheads were touching. The greaser tilted his head to the side and whispered into John's ear, over and over.  
  
He enjoyed the sight of Sherlock right in front of him, his cheeks flushed with pleasure. There was a slight curl appearing on his forehead and the boy smiled. John didn't understand a single thing Sherlock was saying. He supposed that was a good sign, he kept stroking harder. Sherlock drew in a deep breath and moaned loudly, saying something John didn't get. The boy giggled. "What?", he asked, biting his lip.  
  
Sherlock brought his mouth closer to John's ear, kissing his earlobe. "God, John. Don't... don't stop."  
  
There was something about hearing that deep voice mumbling incoherently, asking him not to stop which sent thrills all over John, all of the sudden he felt so aroused he couldn't help but moan, Sherlock's voice should be illegal.  
  
Sherlock was seeing stars. This had never happened before. Ever. With anybody else. Well, not when he wasn't drugged. He couldn't think, he couldn't speak, all of his thoughts gathered around the fact that John was with him, that John was touching him, and a sudden realization hit him: he was rolling his hips _with_ him. _Oh John, John, John._  
  
He opened his eyes and saw John with his eyes closed and his cheeks flushed and he was perfect. The sight was enough to make Sherlock come. "John!", the greaser moaned.  
  
John looked down and smiled, his hips were rolling around Sherlock's, desperately looking for some sort of contact, for some release. He saw the greaser coming apart in front of him and oh god it was too much, it was just too much.  
  
Sherlock panted, his vision went white for a moment. Once he recovered a bit of strength he turned to look up and realized that John's hand was still wrapped around his cock and the boy was moving his hips towards his. Sherlock smiled and grabbed John's hand, twining their fingers. The greaser stared into John's eyes and slowly, with his free hand went down and unbuttoned his trousers. John looked down and bit his lip. A second later, Sherlock grabbed John's cock and started stroking.  
  
The sensation was overwhelming. John gasped and continued rocking his hips.  
  
It didn't take much until he came, panting Sherlock's name. It was incredible, it was perfect, it was a mess but John didn't care right now. He couldn't form any coherent thought, but he suddenly came back to reality when he heard the greaser whispering into his ear, "I love you."  
  
John closed his eyes while he recovered his breath. He placed lazy kisses all over Sherlock's neck and face, not wanting to move for a while.  
  
The greaser stood up and grabbed a towel he had on his wardrobe, they cleaned themselves as best as he could, smiling to each other.  
  
Then they fell back into bed, holding tight into an embrace. John breathed into Sherlock's neck and felt a thousand sensations melting together. He hummed happily and stood as close as he could. Eventually, they fell asleep, both of them smiling.  
  
No words were necessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there you have it, finally after 38 chapters, the word 'cock' makes its appearance. I'm still not sure whether this should be considered 'mature' or 'explicit' though. This is my first attempt at writing smut or something of the like so excuse the naivety and tell me what you think about it! Certainly hope you liked it and... well expect some more.
> 
> Another announcement: for the next two weeks I won't be able to write, like at all. As always, life is getting in the way, so updates will take a while. After those weeks of hell I'll be finally free and will focus completely on the story, but just so you know. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all your support towards this fic! I hope you continue along with me down this crazy road and see you in two weeks or so! x


	39. Answer Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I don't know!"

John woke up in a rush. Exhaustion had gotten the best out of them both and when he realized it was 10 pm. He loosened the hold from Sherlock's arm and ran out, leaving a half-slept greaser waking up confused behind him.  
  
Mrs Hudson received him with a happy smile but he couldn't return it as he was already running out the front door.  
  
He sat on the car, closed the door and stood still for a while, thinking about an excuse he could come up with for being so late. He dragged a deep breath, closing his eyes and silently praying that his father would be hitting the bottle that night.  
  
As if he'd be so lucky.  
  
His father opened the door, his arms crossed in front of his chest, his posture rigid. He raised an eyebrow at John. The boy swallowed, feeling fear spreading all over his body.  
  
"Do you think you can come to my house at any hour you wish?", he said sharply.  
  
"I'm-" he cleared his throat, "I'm sorry. I was... out", John scolded himself silently, wondering how on earth he could be so stupid to say that.  
"Doing what?", his father enquired autoritively.  
  
John stood silent for a while, until his dad leaned closer and seemed to be preparing himself to throw a punch at his son. John grimaced and walked two steps back instinctively, his words left his mouth before he could stop them. "Hanging out with someone!"  
  
His father stopped and frowned. "With someone?"  
  
John felt himself walking on thin ice. He nodded slowly. "...A girl", he replied lowly.  
  
His father widened his eyes and leaned his head closer as if he felt he hadn't heard him well. "A... girl."  
  
John nodded slowly, not feeling strong enough to mutter any other word.  
  
His entire posture went rigid as his father raised his right hand forcefully, he prepared himself for the punch, closed his eyes and dragged a deep breath, but it didn't come.  
  
He felt a hand clapping his back instead.  
  
He opened his eyes and his father was grinning widely at him. "Hanging out with a girl", he repeated proudly, "that's my boy!"  
  
John tried to erase the frown which had drawn in his face. He stared at his father. "What?", he said confused.  
  
"What's her name, son?", his father asked, motiong his head as indicating John to enter the house, so John did.  
  
"...Sarah", John replied, not knowing what else to say.  
  
"Sarah!", his father almost shouted. "Where did you meet her?"  
  
"...school."  
  
"Well done, John!", he clapped him again, so hard this time that John thought his lungs might have turned inside out a bit from the impact. It was the first time his father told him such thing.  
  
He ignored the pain and threw a small smile to his father while he nodded. "Yeah. Thanks."  
  
His mother didn't seem so pleased, but he had talked to her earlier. She knew he was with Sherlock. He nodded at her while she just kept an eyebrow raised and her hands on her hips and went upstairs feeling guilty, he tried to avoid Harry but he couldn't and had to listen to his sister's "LIAR!" coming through the hallway. He closed his bedroom door behind him and took a deep breath. That had been close. Way too close. He had to be more careful next time.  
  
He lied in bed and allowed his mind to scatter around the things he and Sherlock had done earlier and he couldn't help but smile. It was as if the greaser's image was seared into his brain, panting, sweating, cheeks flushed, his eyes fixed on him. He bit his lip.  
  
He couldn't wait to see Sherlock. He was uncertain he could contain himself next time he saw him.  
  
How painful was it, having to hide it. Pretending they don't know each other when truth is that Sherlock is the only person who had ever tried to _know_ him, the only person who had ever had the chance to be so close to, so intimate. But they were supposedly nothing in front of people.  
  
It was difficult. Ignoring the person you loved. Way too difficult.  
  
But it was the only way, if someone ever found out about it, they would be lost. Not only their relationship would be in danger but their wholes lives would be in danger.  
  
He shook his head, the smile erasing itself from his face as he thought about it. It was unfair, being chased for _loving._ It didn't make sense, it made him wonder whether there was really something wrong with him, something weird, something unusual, and whether he should fix it...  
  
  
_\----------------------_  
  
Sherlock realized that John was gone too late. He felt the warmth leaving his body and he sat up in a rush, frowning. He barely got to watch the boy running out the door. He sighed and turned to look at the clock in his night table. 10 pm. He really hoped he wouldn't find John with any bruises or he'd seriously kill his father.  
  
He leaned back on the bed, he still felt like all of his energy had been drained with John. He wanted to go back to sleep, but it felt... Empty somehow. He realized he wanted to share that bed with John and wake up with John right next to him for the rest of his life.  
  
He widened his eyes, feeling terrified all of the sudden. Was he really thinking that? Him? Sherlock Holmes? A boy who considered himself with no more future than drugging himself and dying someday on an alley, was he really thinking about future? Most of all, a future _with_ someone?  
  
John had changed a lot, way too much. It had given him a purpose, something to look forward to, someone to love. He smiled weakly.  
  
He recalled the way John stared at him hesitantly while he moved his fingers, the way he bit his lip, the way he smiled. It was perfect, it was incredible, it was everything Sherlock dreamt it would be.  
  
With Victor there had always been this rushed desire, this _need_ for one another, that had to be done fast, everything was always fast, too fast, it finished before it even started, Sherlock clung onto him because he thought that was the only way, because he thought that meant how much he loved him.  
  
He winced.  
  
John took his time, stared at him, went slowly, calmly, nervously, and it was fascinating, it was surprising, it was completely different.  
  
It was love.  
  
Sherlock shook his head, smiling a bit, since when was he so cheesy? So desperate to love? He didn't know and he didn't care.  
  
He dreamt about John that whole night, it was nice, not dreaming about Victor and drugs in a while.  
  
\-----------------  
  
"I'm bored." Sherlock said, rolling his eyes.  
  
He was laying on John's bed, staring at the ceiling. Finals were starting and John was too busy studying and Sherlock offered to help him with revision but as soon as John took out his notes the greaser sighed dramatically and threw himself over the bed.  
  
"I could use some help, you know?", John said, not raising his sight from the desk.  
  
"...boring." Sherlock replied.  
  
John shook his head and kept studying, Sherlock kept looking at the ceiling, tapping his legs on the side of the bed. A moment later he stood up and leaned closer to John placing a hand in the back of his neck, causing the boy to jump.  
  
"John, I'm bored", he whispered into the boy's ear.  
  
John flinched a little and turned to look at the greaser, his pupils dilated as he stared at Sherlock. "I can't help you, love! You were the one who offered to come and help me! It's not my fault you didn't do it!"  
  
Sherlock whispered again, "why do you have to do boring things when we could have fun?"  
  
John shook his head. "Exam tomorrow. You know how important it is for me to have good grades now."  
  
Sherlock sighed.  
  
"I have an idea." John said, facing the greaser again. "I'll finish studying for this, you'll shut up, and then we'll do whatever you wish to do, alright?"  
  
Sherlock smiled smugly. "Whatever I wish?", he whispered.  
  
The boy nodded. "Whatever you wish."  
  
Sherlock remained quiet for the next two hours.  
  
As soon as the boy finished, he closed his notebook and turned to Sherlock with a silly smile on his face. Sherlock sat up from the bed and looked at John, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"Done."  
  
A second later, his lips were captured by Sherlock's, the greaser cupped John's face with his hands and kissed him thoroughly. The boy caressed the greaser's shoulders and arms.  
  
John smiled widely as soon as they broke the kiss. "You really were dying to kiss me, weren't you?"  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Shut up and kiss me", he said claiming John's lips again. John smiled into the kiss, failed to contain the laughter and giggled.  
  
Sherlock broke the kiss and stared at him, frowning.  
  
John kept laughing. "Sorry, sorry!", he said taking deep breaths.  
  
Sherlock stared at the boy for a while, but his serious façade fell and the greaser started laughing too.  
  
They laughed for a while, and when it died off, John leaned closer and straightened the neck of Sherlock's jacket collar. "...so," the boy asked hesitantly. "...have any ideas of what to do?"  
  
Sherlock leaned closer and kissed John's neck a bit, the boy closed his eyes and hmmed. "...yes." The greaser said while kissing him, "yes, I do."  
  
"Well, I hear you."  
  
"We're going to the cinema!", the greaser said, standing up excitedly.  
  
John was definitely not expecting _that._ "The- the cinema?"  
  
"Yes. The cinema. There's a movie I'd like to watch."  
  
"...okay." John said, confused.  
  
Sherlock smiled, stood up and straightened his jacket, walking out the door. "What are you waiting for? Let's go!"  
  
John sighed for a moment but stood up to follow him, shaking his head. Sherlock was unbelievable.  
  
\---------------------  
  
The car stopped in front of the drive-in. It was all so banal, everybody went to the cinema, it was definitely something Sherlock wouldn't _enjoy._ Still, he was with John and that made him terribly cheesy and typical. Hateful. Lovely.  
  
John looked at Sherlock with a frown, tilting his head to the side. The greaser looked at him with a silly smile.  
  
The movie started after a while.  
  
John moved to be as close to Sherlock as they could be inside the car. As soon as the titles rolled, John smiled.  
  
_"Anatomy of a murder?",_ he asked fondly, "why doesn't it surprise me?"  
  
Sherlock simply shrugged. John stared at him with a smile on his face while shaking his head, Sherlock was so incredible, and adorable, and hot, and smart... And he loved him.  
  
But he wasn't ready to say it so. Not yet. He shouldn't even be thinking about it. Hell, he was too deep. This wasn't good. This feeling so profound couldn't be good.  
  
It felt good though.  
  
The greaser remained silent for the rest of the movie.  
  
What was love exactly? Did it really feel like that? Was John doing the right choice? Then why sometimes it felt as if he was making a huge mistake? Did he really love Sherlock? All those questions were going through his mind and he should _not_ be having them, he shouldn’t be feeling that way.  
  
John had to admit the movie was very, very good, but he kept being distracted by his clouded mind, trapped between the need to run away and stay the whole movie.  
  
After two hours and forty-five minutes (yes, John was counting), the greaser finally turned to look at him with a small smile on his face.  
  
John needed to delete those thoughts, there was no other way, so he leaned closer and kissed him hurriedly, desperately.  
  
It was awkward, it wasn’t like any other kiss he’d had with Sherlock before.  
  
John broke the kiss and they tried to catch their breaths. Sherlock grabbed John by the shirt and frowned. “Hey, you okay?”  
  
John tried to smile and told himself that _yes he was fine_ and replied into Sherlock's neck. "Perfect", he lied.  
  
Sherlock laughed.  
  
It was already late by the time John left Sherlock at his house. It was Thursday and he had a biology exam the next day, so he was getting worried and a bit stressed out, to add to his pile of current problems. It wasn't Sherlock's fault of course, the greaser just wanted to spend some time with him, but still, Sherlock was influencing John's life far too much and the boy wasn't quite sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.  
  
Right now, in front of Sherlock's house at 11:00 p.m. on a school day, it definitely seemed like a bad thing.  
  
The greaser turned to look at him with a smile and leaned closer to kiss him while John just tried to untangle the thousand thoughts going through his mind. Was this good? Was this bad? Was he happy? He didn't kiss back, feeling far too distracted by it.  
  
Sherlock moved a bit so he could look into John's eyes and frowned. "Are you sure you’re okay?", he asked.  
  
John didn't reply. He wasn't even sure if he was listening.  
  
"John?"  
  
John kept his eyes fixed on a dead spot, quiet.  
  
"John?"  
  
  
"JOHN!", the greaser raised his voice, it seemed like it got John out of his stupor. He turned to look at Sherlock slowly, until his eyes finally fixed on him.  
  
"What?", John asked, still looking quite distracted.  
  
"Stop thinking! It's annoying!", Sherlock said, looking a bit irritated.  
  
John thought the greaser definitely didn't have the right to be irritated by the fact the boy was actually spending time with him. He didn't reply.  
  
Sherlock snorted and turned to look towards the window, sulking.  
  
John needed to think.  
  
He didn't even know what he needed to think about but he felt the sudden need to close himself, to be alone and apart from everything and everyone and just _think._  
  
It didn't made sense, Sherlock was the one who was always second-guessing and needing reassurance, not him. Was he starting to act like Sherlock?  
  
John widened his eyes. Was he? No, he wasn't. He definitely wasn't.  
  
The greaser was silent, still sitting in the car, not looking at John but not trying to crowd him with questions.  
  
John didn't know whether he should feel grateful or angry because of it.  
  
He took a deep breath. He just needed a break, not from Sherlock, from school, from life in general. It was all _too_ much. He felt the stress of the whole week settling in his shoulders and he wanted to run away and he had absolutely no idea what was going on.  
  
Sherlock turned to look at him again, but he didn't look worried, he looked... Angry? Irritated? Tired? Exhausted?  
  
"I'll see you later", was all John could say to him.  
  
Sherlock looked down and clenched his jaw. "Why don't you tell me what you're thinking of? Don't you trust me enough? What could have possibly happened that it turned you from happy to excessive distress?"  
  
John stopped for a second and frowned. Hell, of course he trusted Sherlock, it's just it was all rushing so fast and his mind was thinking too much and he couldn't stop the doubts from rising and he just needed to think, but he needed to be alone and he was terrified of how much like-Sherlock that situation was, so no, he wouldn't share it with him because he had no idea of how to put it into words. Because he was supposed to be happy, but he wasn't quite sure he really _was_ and what the hell was wrong with him? He was with the person he loved so he should be happy, but was he?  
  
Sherlock was staring, wide-eyed. It was obvious from his expression he had no idea what was going on.  
  
Without saying another word, the greaser opened the car's door and walked away, not looking back.  
  
As soon as the door closed, John started the car without hesitation.  
  
He needed to sleep, he needed to think, he needed...  
  
He didn't know what he needed.  
  
\------------------  
  
When John finished his biology exam, the literal description of what he wanted to do was scream into a pillow. He was _so_ angry because he had studied really hard, he really had, but when he came back home all he could think about was Sherlock and how Sherlock was angry with him and how he kept second-guessing and how he ruined a perfect evening. He couldn't sleep and by the time morning came, John's brain was a mess with little to no room to think about biology.  
  
So exam was a failure. He just knew, as soon as it was given to him he knew this wasn't going to end well, he was far too stressed, too tired. And it didn't and it was the worst possible moment for his grades to collide because he had good notes or he was no one. That was how it worked.  
  
He avoided Sherlock the whole day of class, still not sure of what he should say to him. Should he apologize? he really didn't feel like he had done something wrong. Should he yell at him? turn his rage on him? pretend nothing happened and just kiss him? none of the options seemed plausible. He sighed.  
  
His apparent luck didn't last for long. After lunch (and he was careful enough to go to the cafeteria before Sherlock would sit on the bench), he took his books to his locker as quickly as he could, and he was about to make it, about to close it, go to the parking lot, start his car and go home, when a hand grabbed him by the elbow, lightly but with a bit of force.  
  
He turned to look at Sherlock with a frown but his expression softened when he saw the greaser's face. He had big bags below his eyes and he was paler than usual. John realized too late that his mouth was open in surprise and he closed it immediately. "We need to talk", was all Sherlock said.  
  
John swallowed, better now than ever. He had absolutely no intention to break up with Sherlock, but he needed to clear his mind a bit, speak things up.  
  
That until a group of people passed and the greaser released his elbow forcefully and scratched his head, leaned against the lockers casually and pretended. _Pretended._  
  
Ugh. Long overdue problem. John grimaced. He understood they had to hide whatever there was between them but there was something about Sherlock doing it that set John's nerves on fire. He gritted his teeth, made sure that the greaser saw the eyeroll and walked away quickly.  
  
Sherlock ran after him to catch him. "John!"  
  
He passed by the parking lot, suddenly he didn't feel like taking the car, no, he wanted to walk. So he did, he kept walking and walking and walking, clenching his fists, the only noise behind him coming from Sherlock calling his name.  
  
Finally he stopped, he was far too tired.  
  
Sherlock arrived seconds later and stood right next to him, looking at him with a frown. He didn't look angry, he looked _concerned_ somehow, anxious, terrified?  
  
John was panting, he felt pain on his legs, he certainly should do some exercise, because it was weighing onto him. He looked up and realized they were in the middle of nowhere. So yes, he had walked for a long, far too long time. But it was good, pain made him focus, made him _think._  
  
That was something Sherlock would say.  
  
He shook his head and gathered the courage to look at Sherlock, who was staring at him, looking perfectly fine, as if he hadn't just walked 3 miles.  
  
"Talk to me." The greaser said, his voice a little louder than a whisper, barely hearable.  
  
John closed his eyes. This hesitation wasn't fair for him, nor for Sherlock. He sighed. "I... I don't know!"  
  
"You don't know what, exactly? If you could just explain what the hell is wrong!"  
  
"I don't know what's wrong!", John said, mad at himself for being so stupid. "I don't know if it's wrong or if it's right, I just don't know!"  
  
"Everything was perfectly fine until the movie, what was it?"  
  
"I- I don't know! I started wondering...", he shook the thought away. "Nothing."  
  
"John." Sherlock said calmly, but that ice tone he said it with made John shiver. The greaser demanded an answer, _deserved_ an answer.  
  
John took a deep breath. "It's just... It's been too much. I love spending time with you." _That's true. "..._ but I feel like I've changed somehow, being with you." _That's true. "_ And I don't want to change, hell, I don't want you to change me!" _That's a lie._ "...Because I still don't know if that's good or bad." _That's a lie._  
  
_And I'm terrified. And I love you. And it scares me deeply, to love someone like this. And it won't end well, one way or another, but I don't want to give up. I know it will hurt. But I don't care. And it should. And I should stop this but I can't because I'm too involved. And I love you. And you should never ever know that._  
  
Sherlock remained quiet. His face gave nothing away, but John could see that he still couldn't understand, and could he blame it for it? He didn't understand himself either.  
  
John sighed. "Look. The only thing I'm asking for is to have some... Distance between us. To be a bit apart. For a while! Not forever, I couldn't handle to stay away forever. Just for some time."  
  
"Distance?", Sherlock said, narrowing his eyes.  
  
"Just a bit, just until the end of classes. I really need to focus on my grades and you're um- you're distracting me."  
  
John could tell it was the wrong thing to say when Sherlock raised his eyebrow, the greaser looked genuinely _offended._ "Distracting you?", he repeated, his voice sharp.  
  
"Wait! I didn't mean-"  
  
"Stop talking, John!" Sherlock interrupted him. He rubbed his forehead, thoughtfully. “Fine. If that's what you want, fine. I'll give you space.” His expression changed completely and now he looked cold and detached, and from his past experiences, John could tell that wasn't a good thing at all. “Space…what a stupid excuse to cover the fact you want it all to end. So fine, I'll give you your _space_ since you're almost begging for it. I wasn't enough for you, I get it. You're exhausted of me, I get that as well, what I don't manage to understand is why wait until now? Why wait until my heart was laid bare for you to take it? Why didn't you say it before- before it was too late for me?”  
  
John stared at him with his mouth open, clenching his hands into fists. He stood silent for a moment, a long moment. When he finally felt he was able to say something without babbling incoherently, he dragged a deep breath and started talking. “I, God Sherlock, I don't want to break things up. That's not an excuse. I really need time, not to think about us, I'm quite clear about us, I need time to focus on studying, to make sure I get a bloody scholarship or something of the like. It has never crossed my mind to leave you, God why would I do that? How could I even get tired of you? It's- its _you._ You're more than enough for me, you're everything for me, Jesus, can't you see it? Can't you see the way I can't help but smile when I'm talking to you or even thinking about you? Can't you see the gleam in my eyes whenever I listen to your voice? Can't you, really? Because I think that with every gesture, every expression, _I_ am the one who's laying his heart bare, there, for you to take it, break it, heal it, whatever you want, I don't mind, it doesn't belong to me anymore.”  
  
Sherlock's mouth fell opened, and closed, and opened. He bit his lip. John could tell it was just too much for him, perhaps he had crossed a line none of them knew it existed, perhaps he had said too much, but no he didn't, because it was finally clear for him, he didn't need to sort themselves out, their relationship or whatever this was, he needed to sort _himself,_ to find himself before it was too late, and Sherlock couldn't help him, sure, he could accompany him, make him happier but not help him. And that was why he needed time. And that's why he dared to say it, because he trusted that now this was strong enough to carry on.  
  
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, and it felt as such, Sherlock nodded, turning his back. “Fine. Take whatever time you want. Whatever you need.” He started to walk away, but stopped suddenly. “Just”, he looked at John once again and his expression looked pained, and John had to swallow. “Just don't forget that I'm waiting for you.”  
  
John shook his head, how could he forget? And Sherlock walked away, without any other word.  
  
It had been sorted out, somehow, they talked, and they made sure the other was certain their intention was not to break up. It wasn't a break-up, it definitely wasn't a break-up.  
  
Then why did it feel like one?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, did you miss me?  
> I've barely had time to write, but here I am, I hope I can update next chapter asap!  
> Sorry for the angst, but it serves for plot purposes which will be clarified soon and yeah read the tags if you ever feel doubts.  
> Lots of love!  
> P.S: I've been writing some Johnlock Christmas prompts! You can check them out [here!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5393837/chapters/12459680) :3


	40. Mack The Knife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh, it's so funny when people _care_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *runs away and looks for shelter* enjoy the chapter! :3

Sherlock didn’t want to go to school. That wasn’t unusual, he never wanted to go, what was unusual was the reason why he didn’t want to go.  
  
He hated teachers, he hated the way they thought punishments were the solution to everything and that with it they’d be making the world a better place. He hated rules, he hated being humiliated, he hated being questioned, he absolutely hated school and had a long time experience to justify it.  
  
But it didn’t cross his mind that he would ever want to avoid school because of John Watson. Not once.  
  
Not when they pretended to hate each other, not when he had to call him ‘Watson’ instead of John because he couldn’t let the façade slip away, not when they yelled at each other’s faces, not when he walked next to Sarah, smiling at her, not when he found him experiencing the worst trip of his life.  
  
He didn’t expect this to happen.  
  
Back then he cared about John Watson, of course he did, but the feeling wasn’t as intense, as deep, as –frankly alarmingly- absorbing as it was now. And he didn’t want to face him.  
  
What John had said was very nice, and Sherlock believed him, but he couldn’t help but think that he was becoming a burden for John, that they (if such thing as they still existed) were now a heavy load John didn’t know how to get rid of.  
  
He didn’t want John to get rid of that heavy load, he wanted to carry that heavy load.  
  
He really hoped that John had made up his mind and wouldn’t just turn this situation into a game, a game to burn Sherlock Holmes’ heart.  
  
No. John would never do that to him. So, one way or another, they needed to talk.  
  
Gathering all the strength he could, he put on his leather jacket, carefully combed his hair, waited for the horrible, dark and dull bus to take him to school, and with a sigh, he entered just in time for the bell to sound.  
  
It was Monday.  
  
Which meant he’d _have_ to see John Watson.  
  
Oh well, now or never.  
  
\--------------------  
  
Hikes entered the classroom with a limp. Sherlock took a look at him and deduced that the old man’s leg was giving him pain, too much pain, not even enough for the five, no, six painkillers he was taking to work.  
He looked exhausted, and could he really blame him? If teaching him wasn’t easy, he couldn’t imagine the hell it must be to teach history to other 35 eager looks desperate to do anything but to actually _learn_ history.  
  
Except for John. Well, John was always the exception to the rule.  
  
 _John._  
  
The door closed.  
  
Where the hell was John Watson?  
  
The desk in front of Sherlock’s was empty, and while Hikes kept on babbling and babbling some nonsense about USSR and USA, Sherlock kept his eyes fixed on the tiny particles of dust falling over John’s table.  
  
John was never late. John never skipped a class. Ever.  
  
Sherlock remembered that day when John’s shiny eyes looked glassy and lost, he remembered the way his cheeks flushed and the way his face replaced the usually happy expression he wore to turn it into an expression of pain, an expression Sherlock wanted to erase immediately, both from John’s face and from his own mind palace.  
  
Not even that day John failed to a history class, he was always there, taking notes eagerly, thoughtfully biting his pencil as his brain processed all the information. That was an image Sherlock kept locked inside of his mind palace.  
The bell was taking too long, Hikes was taking too long, John was taking too long. He needed the bell to ring now, he needed Hikes to stop talking and he needed John Watson to appear and talk to him.  
  
Was it because of _him?_  
  
Sherlock froze.  
  
What if? What if John hadn’t found the courage Sherlock found that morning? What if John didn't feel capable of _saying_ it, of ending things over now and for good? What if John just needed to be apart from Sherlock completely, even if that meant avoiding him and even skipping history class? What if- A cigarette. He needed a cigarette. Right now.  
  
The bell rang.  
  
No, no cigarette. John. He needed to find John, the boy should know better than to hide from Sherlock Holmes, for Sherlock Holmes would find him and god, he would regret ever trying to avoid the greaser.  
  
Clenching and unclenching his fists, closing his eyes and trying to control the need to light up a cigarette, he went looking for John Watson.  
  
\----------------------  
  
Harry Watson stood in the middle of a hallway, her eyes fixed on a spot, surrounded by people passing by who didn’t seem to notice what was completely clear in Sherlock’s eyes: Harry was _beaming._  
  
His eyes roamed towards the person standing in front of her: Clara. Sherlock frowned, hadn’t John said it was over? Well, apparently not, judging from the way Clara played with her hair and for the way she instinctively licked her lips whenever Harry was about to say something.  
  
He needed to stop. His brain was thinking too much. _Focus on John, on John, John avoiding me, John skipping class, John not wanting to see me ever again, John not feeling strong enough to say goodbye, John trying hard to find the strength to say goodbye._  
  
Well, let his mind make more deductions for a while, it was better than thinking about John.  
  
“Harry!”, he found himself saying, not knowing how or when he walked those ten steps towards John’s sister, he startled them both and they turned to look at him with a kind of worried expression on their faces.  
  
“Sherlock?”, Harry asked more than replied. “What happened?”  
  
If there was a reason on earth why Sherlock Holmes should like Harry Watson aside from the fact that she was the sister of the most brilliant boy he had ever met, it was this: she saved herself the formalities. _Thank goodness._  
  
“Where’s John?”, he asked immediately.  
  
Harry frowned. “I thought he was with you, didn’t you have a class together?”, she looked at the greaser thoughtfully, and since she didn’t get a reply, she kept talking. “Anyway, he must be somewhere in school, he said he needed to talk to you.”  
  
 _He said he needed to talk to me._  
  
“But he arrived with you? He’s here?”  
  
Harry rolled her eyes for a second but Clara elbowed her, silently asking to be nice to Sherlock. “Yes, he did. I told you, he must be somewhere.”  
  
“But he wasn’t in class!”, Sherlock replied frustrated.  
  
Harry didn’t look surprised neither she looked like she gave a damn about it. She waved her hands in the air. “oh well, he must be in the library, what do I know?”  
  
Sherlock jumped. “The library! Of course, of course! What is wrong with me? I was too busy studying your body signs which indicate that you’ve resumed your relationship and I didn’t think this through. The library, of course!”  
  
Clara’s eyes widened. “The- what?”, she asked nervously at the same time that Harry turned to look a him with a loud “SHHHHH!”  
  
“How the hell does he know?”, Clara asked, looking confused.  
  
“Oh please, it’s obvious.”  
  
“Is it?”, Clara asked, her expression showing absolute terror.  
  
“It is for me at least”, Sherlock attempted to calm her, that’s what he was supposed to do when people were under stress, wasn’t it? Calm them down with soothing words.  
  
Clara didn’t look calm at all.  
  
Harry rubbed her forehead. “It’s not. We’ve been careful okay?”, she turned to look at Sherlock while shaking her head, “John tells me that this one is a proper genius, he focuses on details no one else focuses on, so that’s fine isn’t it? It means that no one else even suspects!”  
  
“But he does!”, Clara said pointing at him.  
  
“Who cares? He’ll keep his mouth shut as long as I keep mine shut about him and John.”  
  
Now Clara looked positively gone. Her mouth was open in a way that Sherlock found it almost impossible and she gasped and blinked repeatedly. The greaser resisted the urge to roll his eyes.  
  
“Which you did not…”, Sherlock scolded Harry.  
  
Harry shrugged, while Clara still seemed to be assimilating the brand new information.  
  
“Wait, wait, wait”, Clara said, raising her right hand. “Let me see if I got this straight –no pun intended— you- you are dating Harry’s brother?”, she asked in disbelief.  
  
“Was”, Sherlock replied, and his voice couldn’t hide the bitter tone in which it came.  
  
Now it was Harry’s turn to look surprised. “WHAT?”, she yelled.  
  
Sherlock rubbed his forehead, “I don’t- I don’t know. We need to talk. That’s why I needed to find him.”  
  
Harry turned to look at Sherlock with rage, her jaw and her fists clenched. “Are you breaking up with _my_ brother?”, she asked, raising an eyebrow defiantly.  
  
Sherlock replied almost immediately. “Nope. Not me.”  
  
Harry shook her head.  “I don’t understand.”  
  
Sherlock dragged a deep breath. “ _He_ will break up with _me._ I know it’s coming. I’m ready for it.” – _that’s a lie._  
  
“No, no, no, no. There must be some misunderstanding here. I don’t think he will, he looked very happy today when he arrived to school.”  
  
 _Because he’s taking a huge burden off his shoulders,_ Sherlock thought.  
  
“…Just talk to him, okay Sherlock?”  
  
Sherlock sighed and nodded, closing his eyes. “I’ll keep looking out for him”, he turned his back and walked away.  
  
As he was leaving the hallway, he heard Clara’s voice shouting at him: “I hope it works out!”  
  
Sherlock couldn’t help but turn with a shy smile on his face. “Likewise”, he replied, and was replied with a small smile from both Harry and Clara.  
  
 _At least they’re happy,_ he thought.  
  
\----------------  
  
Sherlock stopped in front of the library, trying to calm himself. It didn’t make sense, to feel so terrified without even knowing what he was so terrified about, he just couldn’t fight the inevitability of talking to John Watson and he needed to find out even if he didn’t want to.  
  
He shouldn’t jump to conclusions. John needed time, he said he needed time for himself, but that didn’t mean he wanted to end things, did it? No, it didn’t. Still, Sherlock couldn’t help but wonder and hesitate.  
  
John wasn’t in the library.  
  
Sherlock walked it all, up and down, but couldn’t find him.  
  
Where the hell could John Watson possibly be?

  
He had to think, why couldn’t he just think? This wasn’t doing any good to him, this  _sentimentality_ was ripping him apart, it was blocking his senses, it was slowing his brain. Definitely not doing any good. Nothing he could do about it whatsoever.   
  
He’d just have to wait. Wait for what? No idea. Look for where? No idea.   
  
When lunchtime came, Sherlock had to gather all the willpower he could to force himself to remain sat on the bench which had become the only place he liked within the school. He told himself that John would eventually come and want to talk to him so he should be there, waiting for him without him knowing it.   
  
He absentmindedly tried to read a book and failed miserably.   
  
The bell rang and John never came.   
  
There was only one place left to go and John never failed. Chemistry club. Yes, he might be avoiding Sherlock at all costs but he’d have to face him eventually, so Sherlock was making all of this easier for the boy.   
  
But he wasn’t in the classroom when Sherlock walked in. He asked Molly if she had seen him and she said she hadn’t, not even for lunch at the cafeteria.   
  
It didn’t make sense. John had arrived to the school, and then out of nowhere, he had  _vanished?_ There was absolutely no other place where he could be, then where was he?   
  
Sherlock needed a cigarette. He wouldn’t deny himself the pleasure right then. He walked down to the smoking hole and sat, leaning on the wall of bricks, inhaling the smoke slowly and releasing it, as if he was letting all his problems fade away.   
  
But they didn’t. So John didn’t want to  talk for now, fine. Sherlock would still give him space, Sherlock would give him everything he asked for.   
  
Reluctantly, he tucked his books into his locker when he realized a tiny piece of paper fell from the now open door.   
  
Sherlock picked it up with a frown, the note was written in  typewriter .

  
_St. Bart’s. 5 th floor. Midnight. Got something of yours you’d like to have back._

  
  
The greaser calmly closed the piece of paper and took a deep breath. His mind was racing out of control and he was surprised that he wasn't showing on the outside what he felt on the inside, which could only be defined as a panic attack.  
  
 _John._  
  
He walked out of the school, trying to control the tremor in his hands that was threatening to spread all over his body. It couldn't, he couldn't let fear dominate him, right now what he needed was to _think._  
  
He walked out of the now empty school and kept walking, and kept walking, as he had done last Friday, when he followed John, waiting to talk, it seemed like an eternity ago, it seemed like it never happened. He lit a cigarette, he coughed, he breathed, he felt he was dying, he tossed it away, he knew he needed something more powerful, but he wouldn't do it, he would not risk them again.  
  
Who on earth could have possibly sent that message? The piece of paper had been ripped from a notebook, which didn't reduce any possibilities, it was improbable that it had been someone from school. Perhaps, _perhaps_ whoever has John (because now Sherlock had absolutely no doubt who they were referring to) also has an ally from school, but who?  
  
Someone with enough money to have a typewriter, someone who was given a message, for he or she could not have known by their own about whatever was going on between John and Sherlock since they've been quite private about it, as it ought to be, but who could possibly know?  
  
Well, except that once.  
  
 _Moran_.  
  
Sherlock clenched his hands into fists, feeling rage all over his body.  
  
He thought perhaps Sebastian was drunk and high enough after the party, but he seemed like the only one who could know or have suspicions about it.  
  
Good thing he knew where Moran's house was.  
  
He stopped a cab as fast as he could, his heart pounding hard enough to make him feel as if it was about to leave his chest.  
  
\---------  
  
“MORAN!”, he knocked on the door with all the strength he could. “MORAN!”, he repeated desperately.  
  
A woman opened the door with a frown, Sherlock recognized her from the first time they had been there, she was their maid. “Yes?”, she asked as calmly as she could, which was remarkable, considering that Sherlock had almost knocked the door down.  
  
The greaser was panting and his face was wrinkled, as if in pain, Sherlock wasn't even the shadow of what he had been in the morning. “I'm looking for Sebastian Moran”, he replied trying to regain his composure.  
  
“He's not here, kid.”  
  
“What do you mean he's not here?”, Sherlock looked around and tried to calm himself but he found that he simply could not. “He has to be here!”  
  
The woman didn't look amused, more like she was used to this kind of displays and was getting tired of them. “Look boy, if he's not here, he's not here, okay? Go look for him somewhere else, and God, calm yourself a bit, you seem like you're about to suffer a heart attack. Have a good day”, and without saying much, she closed the door.  
  
 _I might as well be,_ Sherlock thought. He was clueless now, there was nothing for him to do, he couldn't tell Harry, he would worry her too much and she’d probably blame him for it. He couldn't go to Scotland Yard, he didn't have anything aside from the piece of paper nor he could report John as missing, he had to wait three days at least.  
  
It was all so slow, there was no one to go to, John was in danger.  
  
It was up to him now.  
  
\-------------  
  
St. Bart’s glowed in the middle of the night. It was the only place alight at that hour, standing in the midst of an almost deserted street where the only things he could hear were the ambulance sirens going in and out.  
  
 _Please tell me he’ll be fine. Please tell me he’ll survive._  
  
Sherlock was struck by the memory, he could almost see the red light of the ambulance as they took his half conscious body into the car. He held onto the only voice he listened to, he held onto it so tightly that the rest of the noises were muffled by that powerful voice, that voice he’d had the privilege to listen so many times more, that voice which was capable of saying words that could heal, like _love._ That voice which was capable of saying words that could kill. _I hate you._  
  
Sherlock was standing in the middle of the street, willing his brain to delete all of those memories.  
  
 _Please tell me HE’LL be fine._  
  
He dragged a deep breath, tried to keep his right hand steady, and opened the door.  
  
He walked between the cries, the rush, the blood, the silence, the whiteness of the ER. He felt numb, he felt as if none of these noises were actually reaching his brain, he felt as if none of those images were being processed. He kept on walking until he reached the only elevator the hospital had.  
  
The thing was so old that Sherlock had to activate it with a lever. Then it started going up, up and up, then it suddenly stopped at 4th floor, and it wouldn't move anymore.  
  
Sherlock stepped outside and looked for a staircase to go to the 5th floor, but couldn't find any, any at all.  
  
He looked everywhere, between the empty bedrooms, right next to the surgery rooms, but there was no fifth floor. Was all of this a joke?  
  
He walked in a hurry down a hallway, trying to think, when he looked at a small door, in the middle of the floor. Sherlock stopped in front of it, glanced around, made sure that no one was passing by, and went in.  
  
Hidden behind the piles of boxes of detergent, soap and bandages, there was an even smaller door. Sherlock opened it and it revealed a small set of dark staircases. _Hidden in plain sight… Neat._  
  
He climbed up the stairs and stopped in a darkened floor, he could hear nothing, but as his eyes got used to the dark some figures took shape, he saw some empty beds on empty bedrooms.  
  
“Hello?”, Sherlock asked, feeling just a teensy bit scared. Not that he would admit it of course.  
  
Suddenly, the lights turned on and a song started playing out of nowhere, Sherlock recognized immediately, _Mack The Knife_.

  
_Oh, the shark has pretty teeth, dear_   
_And he shows them, pearly white..._   
  
  
“…I did give you my number, and I really thought you'd call...”   
  
Sherlock recognized the voice immediately. He wasn't surprised at all.

 

_Fancy gloves, wears old MacHeath, babe_   
_So there's never, never a trace of red..._

  
  
“…although I must recognize that Molly Hooper wasn't my best choice, well, you can't blame a guy for trying, can you, Sherlock Holmes?”   
  
Sherlock blinked. In his mind he remembered a day, a lot of time ago, when John had given him Molly’s number, trying to hide the jealousy he felt. He remembered having tossed it into his pocket and forgetting about it completely, because well, what would he use it for?   
  
“…I saw you two talking on the bus on the first day of school, and well, nobody would have thought you were… You know”, Moriarty smirked smugly. “Good thing I did the right choice now, isn't it? I brought you here running.”   


_Did our boy do somethin' rash?_

  
Moriarty was now wearing a suit, completely opposed to the leather  jacked he used to wear, he looked older somehow, more serious. He stood calmly, his hands tucked behind his back and a small smile drawing in his face.   
  
“Where's John?”, Sherlock asked seriously, feeling terrified.   
  
Moriarty rolled his eyes. “Oh please. I sent him away for a while, I wanted to have a little  chit chat between us, just us, Sherlock. You and me.”   
  
“Fine. Let's talk. Tell me about you.”   
  
Moriarty raised an eyebrow. “Oh,  _now_ you want to know?”, he clicked his tongue against his teeth while shaking his head. “No, no, no, my dear Sherlock, too late now. But since I'm in a good mood now, I'll tell you a part of the story, just the beginning.”   
  
He smiled as Sherlock stared at him expectantly, his mind was divided in two: a part which was infinitely curious, wanting to know what was going on, and another part desperate to run and go look for John. He stood still.   
  
“See, little Sherlock, I was looking for a mastermind, someone to work with me, to help me, and you caught my eye. I wanted to recruit you, but your attention was fixed somewhere else, or in  _someone_ else. Seriously? What did you see in him? So disappointing! I thought you'd do better, Sherlock, I really did. Oh well, he must be very,  _very_ good in bed!”   
  
Sherlock clenched his jaw but remained silent.   
  
“But I'm thankful for  it, because I realized you're not a genius at all, no, you're ordinary, just like everybody else. Booooooring!”, he sang the last word.   
  
“Then why am I here?”, Sherlock asked, trying to sound as calm as possible.   
  
Moriarty smiled, and the  greaser realized perhaps his voice hadn't sounded calm at all. “Just because you're not a  _mastermind,_ it doesn't mean that you can't be part of my experiment, does it?”   
  
“What does John have to do with all of this, then?”   
  
“Easiest way to reach you. I knew you'd come running. Oh, it's so funny when people  _care_ .” He said the last word with disdain.   
  
“Let me see him.”   
  
“All in good time my dear, all in good time. For now, I have someone here I'd like you to see”, he said losing himself in the shadows of one of the rooms.   
  
Sherlock nodded and waited for Jim to come back, and when he did, he had to swallow hard and clench his fists in order not to let his hands betray him, but the shock was too much: he couldn't help his eyes from widening, his posture from going rigid, his mouth from falling open.   
  
Victor Trevor wore the biggest smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It all will be explained in more depth in the next chapter, lots of love to you all! x


	41. Hound Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were so many things he wanted to say, but now he couldn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the angst, I truly am. I don't enjoy it, I don't even know why I do it, I just sort of do. Plus, I watched the special so I'm definitely angstier than ever. If you want to understand better this crazy idea that popped into my head for the final problem, just read the notes at the end of the chapter! x

_The room was spinning. Is it a room or is it a cage? He felt tied. Tied up and down, yet there was nothing restraining him, his legs wouldn’t move, his arms wouldn’t react. Where was he? He didn’t know. The last memory he kept was getting out of the car, saying something to Harry, and then- then…_  
  
 _Then darkness._  
  
 _Then loneliness._  
  
 _Then confusion._  
  
 _He was wearing a robe, or something of the like, his eyes wouldn’t adjust to the neon light, with its shadows representing the worst of his nightmares._  
  
 _John could have sworn the hound was real._  
  
 _It wasn’t. Apparently. That didn’t soothe him, he kept screaming and screaming, feeling his teeth ripping apart his leg._  
  
 _Time was both moving too fast and not moving at all. He was alone, but he hadn’t been a second ago. Was it a second ago? Or was it a lifetime ago?_  
  
 _No._  
  
 _Here they came again._  
  
 _Holding another pill. The purple one. That was Sherlock’s favorite color._  
  
 _He did remember his name._  
  
 _He said he didn’t, but he did._  
  
 _If the purpose of it all was to delete every trace of Sherlock Holmes from his memory, then he would give them hell._  
  
 _He ignored the fact he had forgotten how they first met._  
  
 _When did it happen? His face was becoming blurry, a shadow losing its intensity every time they forced a pill down his throat._  
  
 _Control._  
  
 _Don’t move, don’t blink, don’t react. The faster they think you’re gone the faster this will end._  
  
 _Sherlock._  
  
 _He needed to see Sherlock, he needed to talk to Sherlock, tell him something, it was urgent, but he couldn’t remember what it was._  
  
 _“Open your mouth, Watson.”_  
  
 _Don’t react._  
  
 _“Watson, my patience is wearing thin.”_  
  
 _John kept his mouth closed, he wouldn't be able to handle another one._  
  
 _The first one was given to him as soon as he arrived to whatever this place was. He recognized them as soon as he saw them: LSD. He remembered the way Sherlock's eyes shone when he looked at them, the way he licked his lips, longing for them. He would love to be in John's place right now._  
  
 _No. No, delete that thought._  
  
 _It was forced inside his mouth, not knowing why he was given this pill exactly, he swallowed it, still not knowing why. A moment later his vision went blank, then it all came back, but the colors had changed, it was all distorted, it was all blurry, he couldn't think._  
  
 _Just with one pill. How many more were to come?_  
  
 _He received a blow to the head. “I warned you to receive the pill before my patience ended! Now take it!”_  
  
 _He took it. Perhaps, just perhaps it will make everything faster. Dying, he meant. He was sure he would die, he had read a lot about those pills once he found that Sherlock loved taking them. He knew what the symptoms were. He knew he was experiencing them. He knew it was serious._  
  
 _He swallowed._  
  
 _Too many colors. Please make it stop._  
  
  
 _\---------------_  
  
“What are you doing here?”, Sherlock asked out of impulse.  
  
Jim frowned. “Oh no!”, he said mockingly. “That's not the way to treat your beloved one, is it?”  
  
“He's _not_ my beloved one!”, Sherlock replied defensively.  
  
Jim chuckled. “Oh Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock-”, he said shaking his head, “the fact that you think you can lie to me and get away with it proves how little you know me. If you ever ask yourself why I'm doing this then remember this little encounter of us.”  
  
“Where's John?”, he asked desperately, feeling certain that he had definitely lost his mind right now and that all of this was product of his imagination, designed to torture him.  
  
Jim threw a hand dismissively. “Relax, he's fine.”  
  
Sherlock stared at him for a while and Moriarty smirked. “No, he isn't.” He said, unable to hide the despair in his voice. “Where is he?”  
  
“In the lab room”, Jim replied calmly.  
  
Sherlock aimed to walk towards the lab room when Moriarty's voice stopped him. “Oh no, not so fast my Sherlock.” The greaser stopped and stood still. “We need to talk first.”  
  
Sherlock should have walked away, go and rescue John and leave this place, but he was curious, too curious. He needed to know. He stopped and turned to look at Moriarty.  
  
Moriarty smiled. “I knew you wouldn’t resist. Tell me what you see.”  
  
“You’re using him as a lab rat”, Sherlock asked, pretending to be perfectly calm about it when on the inside he was bordering a panic attack, he could feel the way his muscles contracted, not wanting to function properly as legitimate fear spread all over his body and seemed to settle on his chest, making it harder to breathe, and John was in danger.  
  
Moriarty nodded. “Good, because…?”  
  
“Because,” –Sherlock continued- “you need someone to practice experiments on and he seemed like the perfect average boy to use. But you didn't want him, not really, you wanted me, so this average boy was only the easiest way to get to me.”  
  
“Nice job Sherlock!”, Moriarty clapped. “Now tell me, what is this experiment about?”  
  
Sherlock stood silent, he had been hoping Moriarty wouldn't ask that question because he had absolutely no idea what it could possibly be about.  
  
Moriarty frowned. “Oh dear, we need to work on your deduction skills.”  
  
Sherlock raised an eyebrow defiantly.  
  
“Alright, I'll explain it to you. See, little Sherlock, a few months ago I was asked a favor. I was asked to find a way to control minds, you know how it has been recently, there are spies everywhere and this is getting silly, that with the nuclear threats and the civil wars. We need to get the truth out of our enemies’ mouths, so I came up with a solution, an element strong enough to make people delirious, but not enough to kill them when administrated correctly, a silent torture for the slow mind, a stimulant for the brilliant one. You should know, you love it.”  
  
Realization hit Sherlock. He widened his eyes. “…mind control?”  
  
Moriarty smiled. “Yes, lovely Sherlock, the perfect solution! One little pill and your mind is ours. Great, isn't it? We make you paranoid, we make you feel observed, followed, threatened, we want to rip apart every memory you have and modify it to make you feel like the only safe place to be is here, that the only right thing to do is tell the truth. They're too scared, and just like that, you give up your mind.”  
  
“Why wait until now?”  
  
“Oh I didn't wait until now Sherlock, I was waiting for you. I planted the clues for you, the game had begun a long time ago, but you were too distracted to realize… Disappointing! Although John is our first human experiment, if we could call him ‘human’. I did leave some kick-starters but you were too boring and too ordinary to find out. I expected more from you, Sherlock, I really did. ”  
  
Realization hit Sherlock's eyes as soon as Moriarty stopped talking. “You! You blew up the fair!”  
  
“You…what?” Victor asked, surprised, looking at Jim with a raised eyebrow.  
  
“It took you too long, Sherlock! I was driving you into my path! Just spicing things up a bit!”  
  
“You… _did_ that?” Victor asked, incredulously. “Why?”  
  
“I wanted to stimulate Sherlock’s mind a bit, see if he was as good as police claimed”, Moriarty said ignoring him and fixing his eyes on Sherlock, Victor stared at him, blinking in disbelief. “Oh come off it now, Victor!”  
  
Sherlock turned to look at Victor and fixed his eyes on him. “He was the provider.”  
  
Moriarty nodded. “He was the provider. Cheap drug, bad quality, good effect.”  
  
Sherlock kept his eyes fixed on Victor, he stared at him seriously. “Are you doing this because it's John?”  
  
Victor looked at Sherlock and remained silent. Moriarty smiled weakly. “I'll leave you two alone to talk”, he said walking away.  
  
“Victor, why are you doing this?”, Sherlock asked as soon as Moriarty was out of sight.  
  
Victor remained silent.  
  
“Do you just want to destroy me? To rip me apart? Is that what you want?”  
  
Victor shook his head.  
  
“…Because I would never wish the same for you, never.”  
  
“I don't want that!”, Victor shouted.  
  
“Then what do you want?!”  
  
“I want to be with you!”, Victor exclaimed out of nowhere.  
  
Sherlock stared at him wide eyed, his mouth parted open in surprise. He shook his head.  
  
“I just- I don't understand what you're doing with that nerd, we were so good, Sherlock, so good together.”  
  
“We were toxic, we were killing each other! We were terrible! We were a  mess!”  
  
“But we loved each other!”  
  
 _“We?_ ”, Sherlock asked incredulously, “ _I_ loved _you_! And you didn't give a fuck about it! You just went and fucked whoever else you wanted! And now that I think about it… No. I didn't love you, not really, I _needed_ you, but I didn't love you.”  
  
“Needed me?”  
  
“Not particularly you, just the drugs and the occasional sexual relief.”  
  
Victor shook his head and leaned closer to Sherlock. “Sherlock, I loved you.”  
  
Hearing that voice pronouncing those words shattered everything inside Sherlock, two years ago he would have sold his soul to hear those words, and now it felt just like a missing opportunity, as something that never was, as a desire long gone. “It's too late for us, Victor.”  
  
“No it isn't, I'm clearing our path! I'm driving him away just so we can be together! It’s you and me, the way it should be.”  
  
“Why are you doing this?, answer me!”  
  
Victor looked down. “Because I thought you'd never go, because I thought you'd always come back to me, with your sad little smile, asking to be loved, because I needed you to come back to me, and I miss you, and I need you, and I regret everything I did to you, but I want to fix it, I want to make it better, I want to make us better, I want to be with you, Sherlock, always.”  
  
Sherlock closed his eyes and when he did, a tear rolled down his face, a tear he didn't know he had been holding. Then another tear came, and other and other, and Sherlock couldn't stop them. “How many pills did you take?”, he asked coldly.  
  
“None.”  
  
“Stop lying to me! Stop lying Victor!”  
  
“My father died.” Victor replied looking down.  
  
“You- you what?”  
  
Victor swallowed and when his voice came, it sounded cracked and weak. “Sherlock, he died! He died and he left me and I have no one! And I never got to tell him how much I loved him, even though he wasn't there for me, I loved him! But I was too drugged to notice! Too drugged to even care! I didn't go to his funeral, and I'm exhausted. I've lost it all, including you. I can't lose you, Sherlock, I can't!”  
  
“Victor, I'm sorry to hear about your dad. I really am. But you've already lost me-”  
  
“No!”  
  
“Yes!”  
  
“No! That's why I'm taking him out of our path! So you don't have to! So we can be together!”  
  
“But I love him!!!”, Sherlock yelled.  
  
Victor stared at him for a while, completely silent. He shook his head. “No you don't.”  
  
“Yes, I do.”  
  
“Sherlock, but I was your first love!” Victor said waving his hands in the air.  
  
“No! You were not my first love! You were my first mistake! John is my first love and you're taking him  away from me and I won't allow that!”  
  
“With him you'll never have what we had.”  
  
“Oh, you mean a relationship that was so unstable that I had to be drugged to stop the cloud of fears about you leaving me? A relationship based purely on the pills and the sex? A relationship that was so damaged and so broken and so toxic that we were literally destroying each other? I'm thankful that's not what I have with John.”  
  
“I- I that's not what I meant, Sherlock, that wasn't what we had.”  
  
“Do you remember the accident, Victor?”  
  
“Yes, you were leaving the party and-”  
  
“I was leaving you! I was running away from you! I was exhausted and drugged and I had sex with you over and over but then you got tired and found someone else to fuck! _That_ was what we had! A mess!”  
  
“But we can make things right! You and me, we can fix it all!”  
  
“It's too late, Victor! It took you too long! A year ago I would have left it all for you!”  
  
“It's not, it's not!”, Victor leaned closer and before Sherlock could even react, his lips were on Sherlock's, kissing him thoroughly, and Sherlock couldn't think, he was too shocked, but once his brain gathered itself, he realized how _wrong_ it felt, how different it was, it wasn't like kissing John, this one was too forced.  
  
Victor broke the kiss and kept their foreheads together. “Victor, where's John?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Victor, where. Is. John?”  
  
“What a lovely scene!”, a voice said behind Sherlock and the greaser broke from Victor’s hold, clearing his throat. “I can lead you to where John is my dear.”  
  
“Take me there, Jim, please.”  
  
“Of course! It's all available for a price”, Jim said calmly, turning to look at Victor and winking at him.  
  
“I'll do anything.”  
  
“You for him.”  
  
Sherlock took a deep breath. His brain was screaming at him to find a way, to do something about it, but he was tired, he was exhausted, he didn't want to think.  
  
“We both know that he was just a way to get to you. Victor wants his pet back and I want a new lab rat to experiment on, you're a genius (or so you claim to be) and I'd love to see those pills working on your big, beautiful brain. I want to _control_ you, Sherlock, I want you to focus only on me, I want you to be my best experiment, my best discovery.”  
  
“Discovery?”  
  
“A brilliant mind with a strong desire for danger and an even stronger desire for boys? I couldn't have asked for something better!”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“Didn't mean it as a compliment.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Yeah, okay, I did it.”  
  
“So what? You want to turn me into a weapon?”  
  
Moriarty smiled and nodded. “The strongest weapon. Right now we can't allow our enemies to take advantage and we need to keep you on our side”, Moriarty leaned closer, “and I'll make sure of that.”  
  
“Program me to kill.”  
  
“Exactly. We have a brilliant mind that we can control as we like, asking it to do what we like, it's perfect.”  
  
Sherlock sighed, finally understanding what the purpose of it all was. John was a lab rat, a means to an end, but Sherlock was a weapon, a lethal weapon. He closed his eyes and swallowed. “What about John?”  
  
“We'll let him go. He'll be free and this will just be a bad experience for his poor, tortured, lonely little mind.”  
  
Sherlock stood still and quiet for a while. Jim interrupted his train of thought.  
  
“I would hurry if I were you, I just checked on your lovely John and he's taken his seventh pill, not taking it well, he looks a bit lost, a bit paranoid, he's asking us to kill him.”  
  
Sherlock couldn't breath, Sherlock was dying, yet he was standing still, he couldn't gather his thoughts, John was dying, John wanted to die and he had dragged him into it, and he was the only one to blame and it wasn't fair, and he was ruining John and he couldn't do this, to see him suffer.  
  
“So, do you agree?”  
  
\----------  
  
 _"Next time cast an eyeball, nerd, or you'll get a punch in the face. Understood?", he remembered the first time he heard that voice._  
  
 _That deep, beautiful voice._  
  
 _It was a bit like a blur from then on, John didn't know what was product of reality and what was product of pills._  
  
 _Seventh._  
  
 _He hadn't forgotten that number._  
  
 _With the sixth one he felt someone was breathing behind his neck. He was told not to look behind him, he clenched his fists but couldn't do it for too long and he turned._  
  
 _He was forced with another pill as a punishment. He swallowed, silently praying that this one would be the definite one, he closed his eyes and all of his memories condensed to form a shape._  
  
 _The first time he met Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes was drugged and unconscious and looked pretty much like a dead man. Blood was dripping from somewhere in his head and the paramedics moved as fast as they could, John would often dream about that person, wondering what had happened to him, if he had really survived,  still thinking it had all been his sister’s fault._  
  
 _If only he had known what would happen next._  
  
 _He looked from the pile of books towards the tall teenager standing in front of him, with his perfectly combed hair, his alarming abuse of grease, and who looked at him for all the likes as if he was already a dead man, that first day of school when John made the biggest mistake of his life._  
  
 _No, not really. The day John's life completely turned around._  
  
 _The day he laid eyes on Sherlock Holmes._  
  
 _If only he had known that three months ago, John was the one giving that look to him, that look of a dead man._  
  
 _So many memories from then on, so many that his brain felt as if it was about to explode. It was too much: the drugs were numbing his senses and at the same time, everything was felt with more intensity. He felt, but he didn't feel._  
  
 _He wondered if that was what Sherlock wanted whenever he tried them._  
  
 _So many memories with Sherlock._  
  
 _So why the only memory his brain decided to show him was that one of Sherlock on the ambulance? Why was he seeing it so clearly now? Why wasn't the memory going away? He was forgetting everything, then why wasn't he forgetting his voice?, why wasn't he forgetting his name?, why wasn't he forgetting the first time they met?_  
  
 _Why was Sherlock Holmes the only memory holding tightly inside his brain?_  
  
I guess he's immune to pills now, both literally and metaphorically, _John thought._  
  
 _He thought that if he were going to die, right now, in this exact moment, his biggest regret would be not telling Sherlock how much he loved him, how much he had turned his life around, how much he enjoyed his company, of how rainy days reminded him of that time they went driving looking for nowhere and only listening to rock n roll music, of how much he loved the way his eyes shone whenever he saw a new car, yet how his hands trembled with fear, of how much he loved the way he turned his jacket’s collar up and smiled smugly whenever he was about to make a deduction, of how much he longed to see the blush on his cheeks whenever he praised him for making a deduction._  
  
 _There were so many things he wanted to say, but now he couldn't._  
  
 _In his mind, he kissed Sherlock one last time._  
  
 _\-----------_ -  
  
Sherlock opened his eyes. The weight of Moriarty's words were still hanging in the air, and he needed to think, but John Watson was in danger and experience had showed him that whenever John Watson was involved, thinking was not an option.  
  
He didn't have much choice anyway.  
  
He had made that choice long time ago, long before John.  
  
He had made that choice when he first smiled at Victor Trevor, when he first talked to him and he settled it when they first kissed.  
  
He chose the wrong side.  
  
He always knew, but he tried to ignore the fact that he wasn't supposed to be on the losing side, yet here was the outcome: he _cared_ and he was _losing._  
  
He deserved it, Mycroft had always told him that caring was not an advantage. He didn't listen, he should have.  
  
He should have never smiled to Victor Trevor.  
  
But he smiled to Victor Trevor and then he lost John Watson.  
  
And he deserved it, for being _weak._  
  
And so, the choice was made. He swallowed and replied with a shaky voice: “I agree.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this idea popped into my mind as I watched The Manchurian Candidate, a 1962 film with Frank Sinatra and Janet Leigh. The movie basically is about a man who is captured during the Corean War and whose mind is controlled in order to become an assassin.   
> I got a bit too obsessed with the idea and I investigated more on the matter and found that there had been a real case, very similar to this one. Turns out in 1953, during the Cold War, the CIA designed a project called MK-Ultra, in which they tested the use of LSD as a way to control people's minds and cause them terror, paranoia, and avoid deviations, such as homosexuality. The project advanced throughout the 1950's, supported by the American Government. I thought it fitted perfectly into our storyline and adjusted it a bit just so it could work for England's intelligence as well.   
> The experiment didn't go exactly as planned and teenagers started enjoying the use of the pill (just like Sherlock), which led to the rising of the counterculture during the 1960s (a topic that I personally LOVE).   
> (Sorry, I'm kind of a history nerd, I hope I made it a bit clearer!) x


	42. Bye Bye Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I'm sorry. Lots of love and shock blankets to you! I love you all and if you ever feel in doubt, read the tags! 
> 
> On lighter and better news, I've just posted the prologue of my new fic, [Lacuna](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5740381/chapters/13228120). If you've enjoyed I Can't Help so far, check out Lacuna, I assure you, it's better! ;)

James Moriarty sat quietly in one of the rooms of the MI6. He had been contacted, a few weeks ago.  
  
He had been targeted, since the day they found out that he was creating a network of spies to keep an eye on the USSR. Not because of the damage they could create, but because they had the best spies, and he needed good spies for his life-long plan.  
  
Surely they never expected him to be this young.  
  
No, they didn't. Jim would always remember the shocked faces as he walked into the meeting room, all staring at him with his mouth agape in surprise.  
  
He enjoyed it, the way adults always thought teenagers weren't smart enough. Well, he was better than the whole MI6 and he was thirty years younger.  
  
The plan was laid before him.  
  
He read the file, _MK-ULTRA._  
  
He had heard about it before, it had been a secret since 1953, but there was no such thing as secrets for Jim Moriarty. He owned secrecy.  
  
_Mind control. LSD. Fear. Torture. Perfect weapon. Hallucinations._  
  
The perfect plan.  
  
Now he just needed someone to experiment on.  
  
He knew exactly who. His target since the day he saw him yelling at that nerd on school. Fascinating, mysterious, an idiot.  
  
The game had started a long time ago.  
  
\--------------  
  
“…but with one condition”, Sherlock said with a certainty in his voice that he definitely wasn't feeling inside.  
  
Moriarty rolled his eyes. “What?”  
  
“Let me talk to John first”, Sherlock said, and it really was the only thing he needed, he just needed to see he was okay, he didn’t care what would happen to him from then on, but he needed to know that John Watson was going to be fine, even though he was going to hate him the rest of his life. That was acceptable, as long as John Watson’s safety was assured.  
  
Victor, who so far had been beaming with excitement, erased the smile from his face.  
  
“No”, Jim said immediately. “What will you do about it?”  
  
Sherlock shrugged. “Nothing, I thought you'd just like me to warn John not to say anything about this, but if you won't let me…”  
  
Jim rubbed his forehead tiredly. “Fine! Fine! If that's what it takes for you to shut up, then I'll bring him, just remember my dear, I'm _always_ listening _._ SEBASTIAN!”  
  
Sebastian Moran came from nowhere, from a place so dark that Sherlock was afraid he might get lost within the blackness just by staring at it. He looked at Sherlock, who stared at him and shook his head slightly, Moran just shrugged, as if silently saying _this is what we do when we care._ He looked down, then, looking ashamed.  
  
“Bring the little nerd around, would you?”  
  
Moran nodded, turned to look at Sherlock once again and clenched his jaw.  
  
\--------------  
  
_“WATSON!”, the voice echoed through the room, John heard it distantly, like a whisper, like a plea, like a sign of weakness, echoing all over his body._  
  
_Someone used to say that word a lot._  
  
_Who?_  
  
_He couldn't feel his hands, but right now he couldn't care less. So what if he was dying? He'd worry when the high faded, and by that time he'd be long buried, so what was the point of torturing himself? He'd embrace it, when it came. He was ready._  
  
_A blurry shape was in front of him, pulling him off the bed and pushing him to move, but his legs wouldn't answer, they'd just give up, his knees buckle, and he’d fall to the ground._  
  
_He was received with another blow to the head, a blow so intense that he felt he was losing his breath, and then he thought that didn't make sense, because his lungs were fine._  
  
_Well, as fine as they could be after taking seven pills of LSD._  
  
_He started giggling, he had no idea why, he just felt like it._  
  
_Next thing he felt was a kick on his stomach, and this time the air disappeared from his lungs completely, and it all became blurrier, and he gasped, and he tried to scream but who would care anyway? He didn't have enough strength to do it._  
  
_“Get the fuck up, faggot!”_  
  
_The air returned to his lungs. Faggot? Well, that's a first. He'd been called a square, an idiot, an ankle-biter, a nerd… But never a faggot. He had no idea why he was thinking about that, he just found it… Unusual. He raised his eyebrow and looked up but failed to find the silhouette’s eyes._  
  
_He was pulled up but his legs kept giving up, until he had to be held by that blurry shape, as he leaned all of his body weight on him. They deserved it, for calling him a faggot._  
  
_He walked for a short time, he walked an endless road, it was too dark and all he could feel was his head spinning, he couldn't focus. He simply couldn't._  
  
_Then light._  
  
_A striking light, too bright, it was all too bright, it hurt, his eyes were begging to be closed but his brain couldn't make the command work. So he had to face the light, always too bright, always too strong._  
  
_“JOHN!”_  
  
_John froze. The air was kicked out of his system, but for a completely different reason._  
  
_A voice which resounded in his head. A voice which made him think about a car racing through a speedway, a voice which made him think about the stars gathering on a cloudless sky while the sun was seeking down and the moon was starting to appear, a voice which made him think about an Elvis Presley song._  
  
_Ever since taking the first pill, John had trouble to coordinate his brain and his body, but it had never been easier, it had never been simpler, saying his name. Effortlessly and sounding surprisingly calm, he just said one word, hiding all he meant to say underneath. “Sherlock”, he replied._  
  
_\----------------_  
  
Sherlock saw red.  
  
At first he couldn't tell if it was because he was too angry or… Or… No. He couldn't think about the other possibility.  
  
He blinked twice, waiting for his brain to adjust to the sight in front of him, and he realized it was the second option: John Watson was bleeding.  
  
The wound started on the middle of his forehead, and it was so long that John's right ear was covered in blood, yet John didn't seem to mind.  
  
He couldn't walk by himself, Moran was holding him hesitantly, and his pupils were lost, Sherlock shuddered and couldn't help himself from yelling John's name.  
  
As soon as he did, John changed. Sherlock couldn't explain it, but he definitely _saw_ it. The boy blinked, eyes looking like they were about to explode from the effort to try and focus and his voice sounded surprisingly strong as he replied with a simple “Sherlock.”  
  
Jim stared at Sherlock with a smile on his face, clearly enjoying his shocked face, he nodded at Sebastian and he released John until the boy collapsed over an old and creaking chair.  
  
“Come Seb, let's give the lovebirds a time alone”, Jim said walking out of the room. He turned to look back and realized Victor hadn't moved an inch. “Victor”, he said sharply.  
  
Victor stared between John and Sherlock and shook his head. “No”, he said, his eyes widened.  
  
“It wasn't a question, it was an order, Trevor”, Jim said narrowing his eyes.  
  
Victor looked at Sherlock and silently pleaded him for something, but Sherlock couldn't understand what it was. Instead, he calmly said, “Victor, please.”  
  
Victor dragged a deep breath, closed his eyes and walked away without saying another word.  
  
They were alone. Or well, as lonely as they could be in this situation.  
  
Sherlock looked at John and focused on the boy, who stared back at him without even blinking.  
  
_Wound on the forehead, not deep but it bled a lot. A broken rib. Black eye. Possible concussion. Too high. Too many pills. He might overdose. He needs a hospital._  
  
Checking on John faded the last of Sherlock's hopes. They could have escaped, but not with John like this, they wouldn't reach the staircase before John would have faltered.  
  
“A- are… Y-you hurt?”, John asked first, blinking and clearly struggling to talk.  
  
Sherlock's brain didn't seem to process it at the moment, when finally the words settled in, he felt a rush of pain and affection stabbing him. _He doesn't deserve this and I don't deserve him._  
  
The greaser cupped the boy’s face with his hands and leaned closer to John. “No, John. I'm fine, it's okay. I need to talk to you.”  
  
John frowned. “Dazed”, he managed to say after a while.  
  
“Yes, yes I know, but it will get better, it will, I swear.”  
  
John nodded slowly.  
  
“I- I have to tell you something.” He stopped and looked at John, and he thought he had been so lucky for ever getting to kiss those lips, for getting the chance to be with John Watson, for getting to see how pleasure looked on John's face. He dragged a deep breath and forced himself to gather strength and say it.  
  
“I… I talked to Victor.”  
  
“Vic- Victor?”, John asked confused. “Trevor?”  
  
Sherlock nodded feeling a bit surprised, he expected John wouldn't remember anything about Victor. He continued. “Yes, um… We talked about us, about what we used to have, and-” his posture went rigid, in a poor attempt to show strength and determination, gathering all his courage to keep his voice from wavering. “I- I realized that I still had feelings towards him.”  
  
“Fee-feelings?”, John asked.  
  
Sherlock nodded. “Yes. I- what we had, it was… Good. And I miss it, I miss him.”  
  
“You… You miss him”, John repeated as if he couldn't quite understand.  
  
“And he does too”, Sherlock said calmly, while John stared at him, blinking and shaking his head slowly.  
  
“S-so?”, John asked, his expression changing completely on his face. Sherlock could tell it wasn't voluntary.  
  
“So… I'm sorry”, was all Sherlock could say, he knew that they'd be listening, and he didn't want to leave John without an explanation, even if the explanation would make the boy hate him for the rest of his life.  
  
“You're… Sorry. Why?”, John still struggled while frowning.  
  
John was making this too difficult, Sherlock felt like in any moment, that strength he had gathered to say it to John was going to fade, and he'd cling into his arms and beg him not to go, or to take him with him.  
  
He took a deep breath. “Because… I'm breaking up with you.”  
  
John blinked, swallowed, moved, looked up, then down, then turned his head to the sides and looked at Sherlock once again. Sherlock recognized the movements, he used to do the same when he took too many pills, and it felt like his brain ached.  
  
The boy brought his hands to his head and started grimacing in pain, the greaser couldn't help but lean closer and touch his cheek gently, offering some kind of comfort, even though he knew this was all his fault.  
  
Sherlock swallowed and waited for John to reply. The boy didn't say anything, and well, that was definitely a sign that he was _not_ okay and that he needed a doctor right now, which encouraged him to keep saying it.  
  
“I just- he was my first love, John, and he said he _loved_ me. He still does, and I can't run away from him, this is not fair to you, so I'm letting you go.”  
  
John's eyes found Sherlock's and his expression was miserable. Sherlock's mouth fell open as soon as he looked at John. “I'm sorry”, and that part, those two words, were the only truth hidden inside of all those lies.  
  
“Y- you said… You s-said…”  
  
Sherlock knew how the sentence ended, _you said you loved me._  
  
“I do. But… But Victor was my first love and, I'll always have feelings for him, and...”  
  
  
John looked at him, and Sherlock saw tears in the boy’s eyes, and he hated himself for doing this to him, for hurting him in this way.  
  
“He offered me something. I'm running away with him.”  
  
John shook his head slowly and closed his eyes, and the tears started running down, and John hated the fact that he simply couldn't fight back, he didn't have the strength to yell at Sherlock, so he just let the greaser keep talking,  
  
“…so please, don't look for me. Let me go.”  
  
John only managed to raise an eyebrow because it all hurt too much, his brain felt like it was about to explode and his hands didn't react and even something as simple as grimacing felt like too much effort.  
  
But nothing, nothing hurt more than his heart. Metaphorically speaking.  
  
Sherlock's face was becoming blurry, and suddenly John felt the weight of it all and he was _exhausted_ and he wanted to sleep and wake up and make as if nothing had ever happened, his hands were twitching and there were tears down his face and John wanted them to _stop_ because Sherlock Holmes had no right to see him crying, bloody hell, Sherlock Holmes had no right to see him in this state.  
  
Had he just broken up with him?  
  
John blinked, his head was too fast to react but too slow to understand.   
  
Before he could properly assimilate what he had been told, he felt someone breathing in his neck, he looked down and realized that Sherlock was hugging him, then the greaser whispered to his ear, “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, John.”  
  
John couldn't understand what Sherlock was sorry for, but the tears kept running down his face, and he wanted to hold him too but his damn hands weren't responding.  
  
“You're going to be okay, you'll be okay. You'll be better without me.”  
  
John blinked, Sherlock placed a hand on the boy's neck to check on his temperature and when he touched it, it felt like burning, a feeling too intense, too deep, and John had to back away.  
  
Sherlock looked at him and looked as if he was about to cry, but why was he going to cry? No, probably his vision was too blurry.  
  
“Just, _please,_ don't forget about me. Even if I become a hideous memory, don't leave me in the dark depths of your mind. Please, would you do this for me?”  
  
John had no idea what Sherlock had just said, the greaser's voice was a distant echo, rumbling somewhere. It was all too far away, Sherlock was too far away, his mind was slowly driving itself apart, the images were blurry and the corners of his sight were getting black.  
  
He blinked, but Sherlock was now too far away, yet he was touching him, then why was he so distant? Why was the image fading? Why was the voice losing its strength? Why was John feeling so completely _weak?_  
  
Then darkness.  
  
He collapsed.

  
\--------------

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”  
  
“My dear Seb”, Jim said, turning to look at the boy as they walked away from John and Sherlock, although his words were soft, the way in which Jim said them indicated annoyance. “Never question my choices.”  
  
Sebastian nodded. “Are we seriously taking the faggot to the hospital?”  
  
Jim smiled wide. “Oh yes, yes we are.”

  
“Why don’t we just kill him and get it over with?”  
  
Jim frowned. “But where’s the fun in that?”  
  
Victor walked with them silently, looking down. They arrived to a room which looked far much modern than the rest of the floor. The place was filled with instruments for espionage. Jim sat by the speakers, and listened to their conversation attentively with a big smile on his face. Oh yes, everything was going according to the plan.  
  
Victor smiled when he listened what Sherlock said to John, he certainly wasn’t expecting that. Had Sherlock realized that Victor meant it this time? That he had really changed and he wanted to be with Sherlock and now there was nothing standing in their way?  
  
His whole body jumped with excitement and expectation. He wanted to see Sherlock.  
  
Jim turned to look at Victor defiantly, as if he had guessed all of his thoughts and was daring him to leave that room. Victor examined that cold, lost look in Jim’s face and wondered how it was possible for someone so young to look so empty and devoid of emotion?  
  
Jim smirked and turned towards the speaker, listening to the conversation and rolling his eyes whenever John started to speak, because it was annoying how long it took the poor, stupid nerd to form coherent words.  
  
Sherlock muttered something they couldn’t quite understand and Moriarty frowned. A second later, the shout was so loud that they didn’t need the speakers to listen to the greaser’s desperate voice. “John! John? Help me! Help me!”  
  
\----------------  
  
John collapsed in Sherlock’s arms. The greaser had been holding him, he wanted to hide his face from the boy, he wished he could be strong enough to walk away coldly with not much more than just a simple goodbye, which was the reasonable thing to do and which would make it all easier for John, but John Watson was beyond reasoning.  
  
And then the boy got heavier and his eyes fell closed.  
  
And Sherlock _lost_ it.  
  
“John?”, he asked calmly, trying to keep his voice even. “John?... shit!”  
  
He patted John’s face and got no response, he checked the boy’s pulse and it was too fast, far too fast. John was overdosing. John was in danger. John was in danger and Sherlock was _dying._  
  
“John, please, John!”  
  
He knew he should carry John downstairs, but he simply couldn’t bring himself to do it, suddenly his legs froze and his feet decided to bury themselves to the ground.  
  
Sherlock was bordering on a panic attack. His breaths came shallow, rapidly, but he felt no air filling his lungs, his hands were shaking and he doubted his own strength to hold John in place. “John, don’t. Don’t you dare, you can’t! you can’t!”  
  
He couldn’t tell when exactly his eyes were filled with tears, he just looked at them as they fell on John’s face. In a second of confusion he asked himself where the drops were coming from, but when he felt his cheeks wet, he couldn’t hold them anymore.  
  
“Wake up, please wake up, I need you. Please, don’t leave me.”  
  
John’s brows furrowed a bit, a movement too small for anyone to notice, but Sherlock did and he rubbed John’s cheek, trying to calm himself down just a bit.  
  
John opened his eyes just a little and stared at Sherlock, without saying anything. Sherlock kept caressing his cheek and talking to John because John _needed_ to know. “-that’s right, John. Stay with me. You can’t, you can’t leave me.”  
  
John opened his eyes and stared at Sherlock for a while, silently. After an endless silence, his eyes fell closed once again.  
  
All Sherlock could do was scream at the top of his lungs, just because he felt like it.  
  
Jim appeared a minute later. “Okay Sherlock, time to take your boy to the hospital.”  
  
Sherlock couldn’t bring himself to move away from John, it felt as if some kind of magnetic force was holding them still, unable to break away from each other.  
  
“Sherlock.” Jim said once again, his patience wearing thin.  
  
Next thing Sherlock felt were hands gripping on his shoulders, pulling him away from John. Sherlock blinked and turned to look at Victor, who now stared at him with a frown.  
  
Sebastian took an unconscious John down the stairs.  
  
Sherlock couldn’t look away as the silhouette of John got lost amongst the shadows.  
  
He sighed. He was doing it all _wrong._ He shouldn’t be trusting Moriarty, what could assure him that John was making it to the hospital area safely? How could he place John’s life in Jim’s hands?  
  
Yet he couldn’t say a word, he couldn’t do anything. He felt as if all of his senses had been blocked and numbed. He felt nothing, he felt everything.  
  
Jim turned to look at him, a grin spreading across his face. “Well Sherlock, let the fun begin.”  
  
He was next.  
  



	43. Shake, Rattle and Roll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He’s nothing. An old memory, that’s all.”

An intense smell of disinfectant invaded the space.  
  
His head was spinning.  
  
The sun shone through the windows, too bright, far too bright.  
  
His eyes wanted to escape yet somehow they remained closed.  
  
All John had to do was opening them.  
  
But opening them seemed like the hardest task he’d ever had to accomplish.  
  
His senses were awake, but his body wasn’t yet, not completely.  
  
He groaned a bit when he tried to move an arm, it all hurt. It all hurt too much but he didn’t know why.  
  
“Johnny!”, a voice next to him exclaimed, and involuntarily, John opened his eyes.  
  
Everything was white. Why was everything so white? Why did everything look so clean? Why didn’t John feel the same way?  
  
He closed his eyes once again, fighting against the intense headache which seemed to have spread all over his body. “Harry”, he managed to say.  
  
John opened his eyes once again and saw his sister’s worried face, so he tried his best so smile reassuringly at her.  
  
She leaned closer to him and raised an eyebrow. “What happened, John?”, she said examining him.  
  
John shook his head slowly. “I don’t know.”  
  
“…The doctor said they found traces of…”, Harry stopped for a moment and swallowed, as if she couldn’t wrap her mind about it. “LSD in your body. A lot of them.”  
  
John breathed deeply. Of course he remembered that, but he didn’t want to tell his sister. There were a lot of blurs in his memory of the past day, but the pills were clear as day. Seven, to be exact.  
  
“…And you overdosed”, Harry said mockingly as if it was the most absurd thing she had ever heard.  
  
John closed his eyes and gathered all the courage he could to speak again, he stood silent for a moment. “Does dad know?”  
  
Harry stared at him with her mouth open in surprise. She blinked a few times and shook her head slowly. After a while, she managed to reply in a croaked voice. “He- he didn’t arrive home last night.”  
  
“And mom?”  
  
“No, she-she was in the cafeteria when the doctor told me. I told her you had been- you had been beaten.”  
  
John exhaled slowly, relieved. Harry just stared at him.  
  
“Tell me what the hell happened, John”, she said her expression getting serious. “Where’s Sherlock?”, she asked, her eyes narrowing, indicating she suspected the greaser was behind all of it.  
  
_Sherlock._  
  
The name hit John like a rock. He couldn’t help but flinch.  
  
_He’s left. He loves Victor. He chose him. He’s gone._  
  
“John…?”  
  
_He broke up with me, didn’t he? He asked me not to chase him. There were tears on his eyes. No, I’m imagining that. The tears were on mine. I don’t remember what happened next. I remember someone screaming my name, begging me not to leave, but I wasn’t the one leaving, so it was probably a drugged nightmare._  
  
_He chose him._  
  
_After all he did, he still chose him._  
  
John shook his head and swallowed down the lump in his throat, suddenly feeling a kind of ache much more intense than anything he’d felt before. Betrayal was not the right word to express it. No, the feeling was more intense. He couldn’t name it.  
  
“John Watson, did he do something to you? Is he responsible for _this?_ ” _,_ Harry asked fiercely, clenching her fists.  
  
_In a matter of speaking, yes._ “No.”  
  
“Swear it.”  
  
John stood silent for a second. “I swear.”  
  
“If I find out that he’s somehow responsible for what happened to you, I don’t give a shit if he’s your boyfriend or anything, I’m going to kick his ass so bad he won’t remember his name, are we clear on that?”  
  
John cleared his throat. “He’s not.”  
  
“He’s not responsible?”  
  
“He’s not my boyfriend”, John said trying to remain as expressionless as possible.  
  
Harry rolled her eyes. “Oh please, would you stop it with that?”  
  
“I mean it, Harry”, he said in all seriousness. “He’s not my boyfriend, he’s nothing. An old memory, that’s all.”  
  
“John”, Harry leaned even closer to him and frowned. “Tell me what the fuck happened.”  
  
“Nothing happened.”  
  
“STOP LYING TO ME!” Harry yelled helplessly. “Something happened! Something _very_ serious happened and if you’re hiding this from me just to protect him, I’m going to kill him.”  
  
John took a deep breath. He considered his options. Telling Harry about Moriarty’s plan was too dangerous, he had actually been warned about it by Moran when he was handled the fourth pill: “ _If you ever make it out of here alive and if we find out you’ve mentioned this to anyone, I swear, Watson, I swear that we’ll make sure you won’t make it alive for much longer.”_  
  
“…Sherl\- Sherlock and I had a big fight. We broke up, he left, I was sad and I wanted to feel something different to _pain._ So…”  
  
A lie that’s preferable to the truth.  
  
Harry stared at him with narrowed eyes, as if she hadn’t bought a single word of what he’d said.  
  
“That’s how it feels, Harry?”  
  
“What, John?”, she asked, still eyeing him suspiciously.  
  
“When you drink.”  
  
“How do you feel?”  
  
“Like I’m falling. Like I’m just diving deeper and deeper, like there’s some light somewhere and you’re chasing after it but you never reach it, you just keep falling, and you never get there, all you see is darkness and darkness and a strike of light shining through, but you never get to grasp it, you just stay there while you stare at its beauty and you just keep falling over and over, further into darkness.”  
  
“And when you land, it’s as if any trace of the existence of that light and the beauty it brought with it was gone and now there’s just you and darkness”, Harry replied, looking down, nodding.  
  
“…So you keep looking for the light, thinking you’re going to find it.”  
  
“And that thought is what pushes you forward, but it’s only sinking you further down”, Harry said, blinking the tears that were threatening to appear in her face.  
  
John shook his head. “Jesus, Harry, I’m so sorry.”  
  
Harry bit her lip and nodded. “Why did you do it, John?”  
  
“I wanted to stop feeling. I wanted to feel, I wanted to feel something different.” A lie, big blatant lie, hidden within the truth.  
  
“And how was it?”  
  
“As if the whole world had been transformed into rainbows to be turned into a blurry gray, in a place so dark and so deep that I can’t even remember who I used to be.”  
  
“Had you tried them before?”  
  
John shook his head. “Never before, I swear.”  
  
“Then why the fuck did you have to try _seven_ fucking pills????!!!!!”, Harry asked, her expression filled with rage.  
  
“Because… because…” _Because?_ “Because I really wanted to feel the effects of it!”  
  
“You’re the biggest idiot on this planet!”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“Where’s Sherlock?”, Harry asked once again.  
  
“John!”, John’s mother exclaimed as she entered the room. “Oh God, my John, are you alright? Please tell me how you’re feeling!”  
  
John swallowed and smiled when he saw his mother approaching, concern drawing on her face, she touched his cheek and looked at him through bloodshot eyes. _She didn’t sleep at all last night,_ John thought. His mother couldn’t find out.  
  
“I’m fine mom, just a bit… sore.”  
  
“What happened, John?”, she asked, her eyes wide open. “We couldn’t find you anywhere and we were so worried for you, until someone told Harry to check in this hospital.”  
  
John remained silent and thoughtful for a while, he turned to look at Harry who just shook her head at him. “Some bullies from other school called me because I looked like a nerd and kicked me”, he was surprised by how easily the lie came out of his mouth.  
  
His mom stared at him in disbelief, “we can’t let this happen, John! We need to know who did this to you, love!”  
  
John threw a hand dismissively. “No mom, seriously, I don’t want to mess up with those boys, it’s fine.”  
  
“John! They almost killed you!”, his mother yelled.  
  
John turned to look at Harry and silently pleaded her to help him, she nodded slowly and spoke up. “hmm…Mum I think John’s right, going after those idiots is the worst thing that we could possibly do, no, they’d just end up hurting him more.”  
  
Their mom didn’t look so convinced and stared at John for a while. John kept his eyes fixed on her until she finally gave up. “I’ll bring you some water, okay dear? Your sister told me the doctor said no solid food for today because your stomach is sensitive”  
  
John caught the trick his mother had done there and quickly replied, “Yes, I got kicked on the stomach, a lot.”  
  
His mother nodded and left.  
  
John sighed with relief, closing his eyes and feeling dizzy just by doing it so. “That was close, wasn’t it?”  
  
Harry relaxed her posture and dragged a deep breath, nodding. “You owe me so much, John.”  
  
“I do, I’ll make it up to you”, he agreed.  
  
“So… where’s Sherlock?”, she insisted.  
  
_Bloody good question._  
  
\------------------------  
  
He almost begged for them in the end.  
  
He almost begged in that second when he felt John had slipped away from him, in that terrifying moment when he thought he had lost it all, when he saw the light leaving John's eyes.  
  
But he didn't, because he knew he'd get them anyway, and God he needed them.  
  
He needed them because John was gone and because now he'd just be an experiment. If he wanted to cope with this, then he'd have to be drugged.  
  
The first one, he swallowed it easily. He longed to taste it again, to feel his tongue caressing the circled shape, to wait until it dissolved and close his eyes while the taste mingled with his mouth. Nothing happened. Obviously. He was used to more.  
  
Jim left for a while, ordering Victor to keep an eye on Sherlock. Victor smiled.  
  
Sherlock looked down, kept his eyes fixed on the floor, thinking about John's smile, about the deep blue of his eyes, about his voice… Anything not to think about the man standing in front of him. No.  
  
Victor broke the silence first. “Did you mean it?”, he whispered and Sherlock almost couldn't get to hear it.  
  
“Did I mean what?”, he asked sharply.  
  
“What you told the nerd, over there?”  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Did nobody tell you that you shouldn't listen to other people's conversations?”  
  
“Oh come off it, you know we were listening. Now tell me, did you mean it?”  
  
“Mean what?”, Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow defiantly.  
  
“You told him… You- you loved me.” Victor replied with a small smile on his face.  
  
Sherlock closed his eyes and dragged a deep breath. “No. I didn't.”  
  
Victor flinched a bit, but in a second regained his posture. “You seemed to mean it.”  
  
“I'm a good liar.”  
  
“So you feel… Nothing? Nothing at all?”  
  
Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh. “Victor, I'm not having this conversation with you again. Yes, you _won._ You got me now, congratulations, you made a deal with the devil and you've got everything you want now. But you didn't even stop to think what _I_ would think, you just went and did it. You took the only person I've really cared about and drove him away from me. So yes, you've won, but do I look happy? Do I look like this is what I want? Do you really think I'm going to change my mind? Think it over and ask yourself if this is how you want _me._ ”  
  
Victor stood silent for a moment, and then he just shrugged. “Still, I have you.”  
  
“Owning, owning, owning. That's what all of this is about, isn't it?”, Sherlock said shaking his head.  
  
“This is not about me, Sherlock! This is about us!”, Victor yelled helplessly.  
  
“THERE IS NO US!!!”, Sherlock said desperately.  
  
Victor rummaged for something inside his pocket and took out a pill. He showed it to Sherlock and leaned closer to him. “Open up for me.” _Oh so many times that quote had been said in a very different context._  
  
Sherlock looked down to where his hands were tied to the chair. Jim thought it was a good idea after Sherlock tried to run away from the room, an absolute failure because he was too slow and Victor caught him, holding him tightly.  
  
He opened his mouth and Victor placed the pill on Sherlock’s tongue, slowly caressing the boy’s lips with his index finger before pulling his hand away.  
  
Of course this would do nothing either, it was stupid, all this waiting, but apparently it was part of the experiment, then they’ll change the timing between each pill and see how he’d react. Boring.  
  
“Good boy. In fifteen minutes I’ll give you the next one. This is getting exciting, isn’t it?”  
  
“Fuck you, Victor”, Sherlock replied, not facing his former boyfriend.  
  
“Oh shhh love, that’s no way to talk to me, is it?”, he said raising an eyebrow.   
  
Sherlock looked at him and flinched. Right then, in that exact moment, he felt a thousand different things, some things he couldn’t even put a name into, but the strongest feeling was of utter and complete confusion. He couldn’t help but ask himself how he ever allowed himself to fall for someone like Victor?, or no, perhaps not that, why did he allow Victor to change him so much?, how did he let Victor have such a huge influence in his life?  
  
He closed his eyes and thought it over. Back then, in those years when Sherlock felt like the only company he’d ever have was the skull he used to talk to, Victor came and _saved_ him. He did, he really did. Victor saved him for sure. But Victor also doomed him, and Sherlock could never forgive him for that.  
  
The greaser swallowed and looked at the face in front of him for a long, silent moment. That face he had once felt he needed to see every day, in every second, in every moment, that face that seemed to shine every time that Victor smiled, that face which now had fallen a bit, that face that once was so innocent, so full of nothing else than a sense of adventure, a desire for discovery, an endless curiosity.  
  
“We were broken, you and I”, Sherlock said, just a bit louder than a whisper. “Back when we met.”  
  
“Yes, yes we were”, Victor nodded slowly.  
  
“And we’re still broken, we still haven’t healed, we just added more and more to it, keep ripping us apart.”  
  
“We just keep desperately looking for something we never had, and we don’t know what it is.”  
  
“Precisely. And we only ended up hurting people around us on the way.”  
  
“I just… I wanted to be happy, Sherlock. I wanted to feel _something_ , anything, anything different from pain, anything different from this constant emptiness. I needed to fulfill the void, but it’s still there, bigger than ever, it never goes away.”  
  
“Do you want to know why I screamed John’s name, last night?”  
  
Victor rolled his eyes at the mention of John but quickly replied, “because he was collapsing from an overdose-”  
  
“No”, Sherlock cut him off immediately. “Because in that moment, in that exact second, I felt that everything inside me turned into emptiness, that the void which once seemed fulfilled was being emptied and that feeling I fought against my whole life was coming back. And trust me, if there’s anything more painful than feeling hollow, it’s feeling _something_ , feeling _everything,_ just to go back to the darkness again, as if everything was just an illusion, a product of imagination.”  
  
Victor stared at him silently for a while, finally he spoke up again. “I’m sorry, Sherlock. I really am.”  
  
“What for?”  
  
“For everything I did to you all this time. I just played with you over and over, I thought you’d be always there, and I could always use you and throw you and then you’d come back. Until you didn’t anymore. And I’m sorry.”  
  
“I’m sorry too”, Sherlock replied.  
  
Victor looked at him, frowning. “Why?”  
  
“Because I should have run away. I should have left you and made you realize that what we had was not going to help you, that I wasn’t going to save you. I should have helped you help yourself. And I didn’t.”  
  
“You really love him, don’t you? The way you talk about him… Your eyes never gleamed that way when we were together.”  
  
“I really do. I do, deeply. And I’ve lost him.”  
  
“Miss me?”, Moriarty said walking back into the room. Both Sherlock and Victor jumped and turned to look at Jim, startled. “Victor, give our patient the other pill.”  
  
Victor nodded, Sherlock opened his mouth without resistance, and waited. This was just the third pill. He was still feeling nothing.  
  
He closed his eyes and remained silent.  
  
\-------------  
  
John still felt dizzy and tired and numb, but when the doctor arrived to his room telling them he could go home, it was a huge relief.  
  
Three days and still no sign of Sherlock.  
  
“Mom, do you know if- if anyone from school has come to visit or has asked about me?”, he said on his second day on hospital, not looking at his mom and pretending to be nonchalant, fixing his eyes on the floor.  
  
His mom frowned. “No love, I’m sorry. Probably Harry talked to them on school and told them you were getting better.”  
  
“Yes, probably.”  
  
\-----------------  
  
“Harry”, John started, but his sister rushed to reply, rolling her eyes.  
  
“No. Your boyfriend wasn’t there. We had PE and he was absent.”  
  
“He’s not my boyfriend”, John said.  
  
Now, sitting on his bed, completely still, looking at a dead spot somewhere on that boring wall, John remembered, it took a lot of effort, but he did.  
  
_“…so please, don't look for me. Let me go.”_  
  
That was the last line his exhausted, overused and abused mind could remember.  
  
What else could he have ever expected from someone like Sherlock Holmes? What else could he have expected beyond running away with someone who broke him, who made him suffer, who dragged him into darkness?  
  
It wasn’t going to work out anyway. Never.  
  
But he did say it.  
  
He said he loved John.  
  
Was all of that a lie? Did he never mean it? Was he playing with him, just like Victor did?  
  
Deep inside his bones, deep inside his heart, inside his muscles, in the middle of his tired brain, in his fists, in his mouth, in his breath, John felt nothing, absolutely anything, but deep and complete _rage._  
  
Rage for believing, rage for falling, rage for loving, rage for missing, rage for creating illusions, rage for seeing something more than a helpless idiot looking for his next fix.  
  
John covered his face with his hands and felt it growing, expanding inside his body, and he let it out, he screamed, he screamed and screamed until he felt his throat sore, and then he kept screaming, until he felt empty, until the rage was replaced with exhaustion and with pain.  
  
But the exhaustion was bigger.  
  
His mom was at school talking to his teachers, Harry was studying, dad was working, drunk probably. Well, what else could he do? He threw himself over the pillow and shut his eyes closed, and slept, and slept and slept until everything seemed distant, until everything seemed to be different.  
  
He slept through the sunset, he slept through the night, he slept when a blurry silhouette clouded his dreamless nap, he slept when that silhouette talked to him, in that voice he had once come to love fervently and deeply.  He listened as the voice said over and over, _“_ _Just, please, don't forget about me. Even if I become a hideous memory, don't leave me in the dark depths of your mind. Please, would you do this for me?_ _”_  
  
_“I couldn’t even if I tried”,_ was all John replied.  
  
\------------  
  
_This was his tenth._  
  
_He was breaking his record._  
  
_Also he was falling._  
  
_Falling over and over, falling into nothing, falling into everything, falling._  
  
_So he embraced himself for the fall. Was there anything else he could do?_  
  
_It had kicked him hard, the tenth one. Considering the other nine hadn’t managed to do anything._  
  
_He had lost count of how long he had been here._  
  
_He just remembered he had felt this before, this sensation of falling, he had felt it in that same place before._  
  
It was his third day here.  
  
It was his third day here and Moriarty had already managed to make him forget about the time him and John met.  
  
He was winning and it was easy. It was easy winning when playing with an addict.  
  
_He closed his eyes, he knew the impact would come soon._  
  
_He landed._  
  
_He opened his eyes and looked around, a distant voice talking about something too boring for him to pay attention, no, his attention was fixed on something else._  
  
_A classroom._  
  
_A table right next to him._  
  
_An old, creaky chair._  
  
_John Watson’s smile._  
  
_Yes, John Watson was smiling, better, he was laughing, with his eyes closed and trying to breathe through his happy tears, he stopped for a moment and stared at Sherlock as if he was the most incredible boy he’d ever known, and Sherlock felt happy, completely and absolutely happy._  
  
_And as soon as it appeared, it vanished. Just like that, and in a second, Sherlock stopped feeling happy, no, he wasn’t happy. He was empty._  
  
_He fell once again._  
  
_A stack of lockers._  
  
_A boy sitting, flinching in pain, looking desperately for his glasses._  
  
_“Are you okay?”_  
  
_“Go, your friends must be waiting for you.”_  
  
_And Sherlock felt sad. And Sherlock felt empty._  
  
_And Sherlock was falling._  
  
_Worse, Sherlock was forgetting._  
  
_He remembered the boy’s face, how could he ever forget it? But he’d forgotten which class was it and who had hurt him when he leaned by the lockers._  
  
_He couldn’t forget._  
  
_He had to hold into it._  
  
_He landed again, and when he did, he didn’t know if what was happening was real or was just his imagination._  
  
_He didn’t remember._  
  
_He didn’t remember that time John had hit him with those books and absentmindedly apologized._  
  
_He didn’t remember he had replied so harshly._  
  
_Probably just a dream, a bad dream._  
  
_A dream he’d come to forget. A dream he had to forget._  
  
_Forget what?_  
  
_Sherlock was falling once again_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... things are getting better aren't they? :) anyway, just wanted to thank you all for your support down this road and tell you that I'm very sorry but updates will take a bit longer from now on, mostly because I've started classes at uni again and I barely have time to breathe. Love you all and hope to update soon! Please keep motivating me with your lovely comments! x


	44. Runaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You for him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *looks down* I'm so very sorry for taking so long with this chapter, things have been complicated, this one was a tricky one to write and my laptop broke so I've gone through everything, but here I am and I'm sorry. Thank you for all your support with this fic, you're the ones who have pushed me to keep doing this! :D Love you and hope to update soon, although I'd ask you to be a bit patient.

John was more than ready to come back to school on Thursday. It had been four days since he was kidnapped and he'd spent two endless days trapped on that clinic and all he wanted to do was run away and do  _something,_ anything to keep his mind entertained, to not make him  _think,_ to take him away from those flashbacks that were torturing him.   
  
His mother kept insisting on waiting until next week to come back, but there were just two weeks left of the school year and John wanted to have the best grades he could.   
  
Because there was nothing else to distract him from his goals, or no one.   
  
And that was alright, that was more than fine, it was great, yes, focusing on studies, not thinking about anything else… Great.   
  
He allowed himself to cry one night. The night after he woke up in hospital he was falling asleep, his mom and his sister had gone home to get some rest since they’ve spent almost all their time locked here with him and he couldn’t help but feel guilty, and that was when the nightmares started. He saw it all clearly. Too clearly. It was one of those dreams where he wasn’t sure what was real and what wasn’t.   
  
_Sherlock looking at him with disdain Sherlock kicking his chair Sherlock calling him Watson Sherlock singing to Heartbreak Hotel on John’s car Sherlock singing to Chuck Berry laying on the sofa and staring fixedly at John drunk Sherlock taking a drunk Harry home John taking a drunk Sherlock home Sherlock needing the brain intact Sherlock bringing the milkshakes Sherlock getting angry at John’s attempt to know him better Sherlock sitting next to him on the lockers apologizing for ruining them John falling asleep with Sherlock breathing behind him their first kiss on Dewer’s Hollow Sherlock calling him love Sherlock seeing Victor Trevor Sherlock crying and begging John not to end it Sherlock at the party Sherlock fighting with him because of Sarah John saying I hate you Sherlock saying I love you them kissing once again after an eternity Sherlock gasping John’s name as John took him in his hand Sherlock running away with Victor Sherlock running away with Victor Sherlock running away with Victor._   
  
John wake up panting. He felt utterly and completely exhausted. He was so tired of Sherlock, so tired of running in circles, so tired of loving him deeply, so tired of having his heart broken, so tired.   
  
And he was surprised when he felt the tears running down his cheeks, he had been strong enough to hold them, but this, all of this was far too much.   
  
Sherlock was an idiot. Sherlock was a stupid blind idiot, an addict in need of a fix, his fix being Victor Trevor, never able to run away from him, too weak to withdraw from Victor, he kept falling into him, and Victor was going to  _ruin_ him.   
  
But that wasn’t John’s problem anymore. And John should have felt relieved, happy, as if a weight had been taken off his shoulders, but he felt empty, completely hollow on the inside, it was a kind of emptiness so intense that it made him ignore the way his body ached for more pills, it was a kind of darkness so deep that John just didn’t care anymore. He knew he needed a distraction, and he needed to get out of this place before memories consumed him.   
  
He stopped and frowned.   
  
_Memories._ Memories. Memories.   
  
He still had them, they had come back.   
  
By the time he ended up in hospital it took him a lot of effort to remember that Sherlock’s last name was Holmes and that they had met when they crashed into each other. He had already forgotten that part, his brain seemed to replace the void left by those memories with hallucinations of his own.   
  
But they were back now, and John had no idea how. Was Sherlock so pierced into his brain there was not even a way to erase him even if he wanted to? John couldn’t tell if that was good or bad. For now, it seemed pretty bad.   
  
Because a part of John wanted to erase every trace ever left by Sherlock Holmes, while the other one just wanted to hold into every memory they had built together, to keep them as something good, as something worth remembering.   
  
So he didn’t stop the tears from rolling, he cried for Sherlock, he cried for his sister, he cried for his mother, he cried for his father, he cried for himself.   
  
And it felt like somehow he had taken a huge burden off his shoulders.   
  
Thursday morning was rainy and cloudy and John was definitely not considering the possibility that Sherlock Holmes would be at history class. Of course not, definitely not.   
  
Even if he was, what would he do? There was nothing to be done, not even talk, Sherlock had made it quite clear that he wanted to be as apart from him as possible and John would respect it.   
  
He swallowed down that void he was still feeling in his throat, attempted to do a weak smile and nodded encouragingly at his mother, as if making her see she had made the right choice.   
  
Sherlock wasn’t at history class.   
  
Good thing John definitely didn’t consider the possibility.   
  
The classroom seemed emptier, the classroom seemed duller, the classroom seemed darker.   
  
They had delivered the final project a week ago.   
  
While Hikes kept talking and talking about the communists, John sat staring into the distance, wanting to run away from that place, wanting to stay there forever. It was too much.   
  
He didn’t feel sad. He didn’t feel angry. He didn’t feel weak. He felt  _tired,_ completely, utterly  _exhausted_ of playing this same game.   
  
School was definitely not making him feel better.   
  
\----------------   
  
Sherlock felt numb. Too numb. Dangerously numb. He knew it, he knew this was  _wrong,_ knew that this was too much even for him, knew that they were pushing his brain to the limits and that if it kept going like this, it was finally going to give up.   
  
It seemed like it was already giving up on him.   
  
And he fought against it, because his brain was all he had, but it was so difficult to keep thinking when every fifteen minutes or so he would be given another pill and whenever he wasn’t given one he felt his whole body craving for it so badly he thought it was going to explode with want.   
  
Sherlock had a wonderful power to lock things within his mind palace.   
  
John Watson was the first thing he blocked.   
  
Which meant that for the  _onetwothreefourfive,_ five days he had been here, he hadn’t allowed himself to think about John Watson, well not so much, sometimes a memory or two managed to escape from the chains with which he had locked the door leading to John.   
  
_His favorite color is green._   
  
_He likes hideous jumpers._   
  
_His favorite one is Chopin._   
  
Those thoughts weren’t supposed to be escaping, if they escaped they might never come back, because the pills were making their way into his brain and if they got there, they would erase everything that made Sherlock Holmes a person.   
  
John Watson was the first thing that made Sherlock Holmes a person.   
  
Therefore, John Watson must be kept locked in the depths of his own mind palace.   
  
He was saying something. He didn’t know what it was. Was he… was he  _begging?_   
  
He felt a hand touching his forehead, wiping the little drops of sweat on it away, gently. He looked up and tiredly, slowly, numbed, managed to say one word, or more like mumble it. “John?”, he asked.   
  
“Shhh… Shhh… You’ll be fine, love.”   
  
Sherlock looked up and blinked for a few seconds waiting for his eyes to finally receive some message from his brain. When they finally recognized the silhouette in front of him, Sherlock flinched.   
  
Irene Adler was standing in front of him.   
  
She bent down and stared fixedly at him, scanning everything: from his foggy, lost eyes, to his messy hair, his trembling hands, his unstoppable mouth, his back contorting, fighting against the dizziness. “I missed you. School hasn’t been the same without you and your boy”, she covered her mouth with her hand. “Whoops! Sorry, your ex-boy, my bad.”   
  
Sherlock just blinked at her.   
  
“You look good, my dear. We really should have dinner”, she said winking an eye at him.   
  
Sherlock dragged a deep breath, closed his eyes and forced his mouth to reply to that. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse. “Why would I want dinner if I’m not hungry?”   
  
Irene leaned closer, staring at Sherlock’s lips. “Who knows, it might be your last meal.”   
  
“Still not interested. Never was. Never were.”   
  
“Do you think I didn’t know that?”   
  
“Oh you did, but you wanted it  _not_ to be true”, Sherlock said, gaining a bit of strength, ignoring the tremors all over his body, asking him for  _more._ “You wanted to keep playing the game.”   
  
“No”, she said shaking her head, “ _you_ wanted to keep playing the game. And you’re losing. Because this is what happens Sherlock, people  _lose._ And you’re no more than the rest of the people.”   
  
“Why are you doing this?”, Sherlock asked, frowning. Damn, his brain was really slow right now, why hadn’t he asked that before?   
  
“Because, my dear Sherlock”, she said, leaning impossibly closer, and whispering to him, “I get bored. And I like to play games.”   
  
“Nope.” Sherlock said, looking at her and raising an eyebrow, trying to conceal the huge effort it represented. “You enjoyed yourself too much, at first it was just for fun, but then,  _then_ you allowed sentiment to come and ruin you.”   
  
She grimaced a bit but it disappeared as soon as it appeared. “You’re the one to talk”, she said defensively.   
  
“You  _fell_ in love. And it was too much for you to handle.”   
  
“Oh, you don’t really think I actually fell in love with  _you,_ do you, Sherlock? Please, I thought you were s _mart._ ”   
  
“I  _know_ you fell in love. So don’t try to pretend. I may be high as a kite. I may not even know where I’m standing, but your eyes tell me all I need to know. And you are showing your weakness, and one must never,  _ever_ show weakness.”   
  
She smirked, trying to look nonchalant. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’m the one who’s losing now.”   
  
Sherlock tilted his head a bit. “No, you’re not. You’re not losing now. You already did.”   
  
Irene raised an eyebrow at that. “Really? How so?”   
  
“I’m here. The plan worked perfectly, and you’re destroying me bit by bit. You have what you’ve wanted ever since you realized that this wasn’t going to work and that I was using you. Yet-”, Sherlock leaned closer. “Not even I, who am apart from the person I love, used as a bait and being turned into some sort of weapon, look nearly as miserable as you. Got everything you wanted, Irene? Victory is bitter, isn’t it? Because this isn’t how you  _wanted_ me, and you hate yourself for it, for wanting me somehow, for letting your mask slip, for allowing yourself to show your weakness.”   
  
Irene’s eyes were now filled with tears.   
  
“It doesn’t matter what happens to me, Irene. I can die, right here, right now, I can survive, I can stop the war, I can stay here forever. But still, you’ll never win the game because you never got what you wanted. You’re doomed to lose. You won’t get me.”   
  
Irene stared at him silently, her mouth slightly opened. Sherlock examined her. She was beautiful, smart, strong, decided. But she was the proof that sentiment meant losing, she had fallen in love with Sherlock, she wanted revenge for those sentiments not being mutual, she wanted to hurt Sherlock, but it hurt her to see Sherlock hurt. It was never going to work. Loving was losing.   
  
Loving was losing.   
  
Sherlock always knew it.   
  
Yet,  _yet,_ it didn’t feel like losing, because John was fine. So it was worth it, it was worth the pain, it was worth the dizziness, it was worth whatever that would happen to him from now on, just knowing that John was  _safe,_ so it didn’t feel like losing. Brilliant, wonderful, smart John was going to be fine, and that by itself was his own personal  _victory._   
  
“Go to hell”, was Irene’s reply. Her hands were shaking and she clenched her fists before walking away from the room.   
  
Sherlock sighed. He knew from the very first moment, he knew that Irene felt something, and he knew it wouldn’t end well, one way or another.   
  
_He sleeps on the right side of the bed._   
  
The data was escaping.  _The data was escaping._ He couldn’t let go, he had to keep it well-locked, he couldn’t let John’s memory slip away from his head, it was all he had left to hold onto. Nothing more than just a memory. He closed his eyes and tightened the metal chain surrounding John’s door.   
  
His brain was too tired after the conversation.   
  
One little push more, and it would give up.   
  
\----------------   
  
John arrived home after another endless day of school. He couldn’t find in himself the energy to carry on, he was exhausted, he wanted to stop the world from moving for a second and just… breathe. He felt pressured, pressured to be perfect, pressured to keep good grades, pressured to show like everything was fine.   
  
He stood in his car, door closed, staring into distance. He felt a huge desire to turn on the radio and Blueberry Hill by Fats Domino filled the environment. He hated that music, he despised it. He wanted to run away from it, but he couldn’t, he just simply couldn’t.   
  
Hadn’t everything related to Sherlock had been like that? Him wanting to turn his back and walk away but somehow feeling completely attracted, unable to say no?   
  
He couldn’t help it.   
  
He stood there, listening to the next song, and the song after that, but he was so immersed in his own thoughts that he had no idea what he was listening to. Finally, he turned off the radio, leaned his head against the chair and closed his eyes, gathering strength to get out.   
  
He went to open the door of his house when his mom received him with a huge kiss on his cheek. He was used to displays of affection from her, but this was too much even for him, he nodded and smiled weakly to her.   
  
His mom couldn’t hold her excitement and nervousness anymore. Finally, she smiled widely and almost yelled: “a letter arrived for you today!”   
  
John was caught completely off-guard. He turned to look at her, not quite understanding what she had said. “Sorry, what?”   
  
His mom rolled her eyes but spoke again, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “A letter arrived for you today…”, she took the envelope from the dining table. “From Bart’s.”   
  
John’s brain apparently was still too slow to process what she had just said. He stood quiet. “Wha-what?”   
  
“OPEN IT!!!!”, her mom yelled, rubbing her hands, trying to hide her anxiety.   
  
He grabbed it and read it carefully while his mother looked at him expectantly.   
  
“Well?”, she asked, after he placed the letter down.   
  
John remained silent for a while.   
  
“John!”   
  
“I- I got in. A scholarship to study medicine.”   
  
His mom yelled and kissed him on the cheek. John couldn’t quite put into words what he felt. Because he felt nothing. The sensation, the surprise, the joy he felt at the moment was so huge that his brain had blocked all kind of feeling. He was speechless. It was everything he’d always wanted, and the look of happiness on her face was enough to make him feel happy.   
  
Sherlock had once called him a healer. Now he’d finally have the chance to prove it.   
  
_Sherlock…_   
  
“…but we’ll figure it out! I’m so proud of you love!”   
  
John’s attention snapped back to his mom. “Sorry mom, what did you say?”   
  
“That we’ll find a way to afford your living in the city, but it’ll be worth it! Oh my son will be a doctor. The best doctor in the country!”   
  
“I- I’ll have to move to the city”, he said with eyes widened, suddenly surprised. London. His life was going to change completely.   
  
“Yes! Wasn’t that what you always wanted?”, his mom asked, looking a bit confused.   
  
John saw the concern on his mother’s face and shook all the fears away. “Yes”, he smiled. “Yes, it’s everything I always wanted, mom. Thank you. Thank you.”   
  
She hugged him tightly. “You deserve it, John.”   
  
He went upstairs with a huge smile on his face. He re-read the letter over and over, his brain still not quite understanding the implications of it: he was going to be a doctor, he was going to live in the city,  _in the city!_  his life would completely turn around.   
  
He laid on bed, still not feeling anything, too overwhelmed to react. He looked at the ceiling and thought that now Sherlock would never know that he’d be gone or where he was going to, Sherlock would never know that he had gotten his scholarship, Sherlock would never get to see John as a doctor.   
  
Leaving would mean cutting absolutely every trace of Sherlock from his life.   
  
And he couldn’t be eager to do it so.   
  
\-----------------   
  
Although it still hurt like hell to think about the greaser, the letter made things much more bearable, John felt motivated to finish his classes, longing to leave this town and go to the city.   
  
So things eventually got better. It had been five days since John came back from hospital and that pain he felt like it was stabbing him over and over, had become a reminder of what he’d left behind. It felt good, being the old John Watson, the John before meeting Sherlock.   
  
Although he would never be the same John he was before meeting Sherlock. He’d changed forever, irreparably, irremediably. And that was good, wasn’t it? Sherlock had shown him what it was like to  _live_ the life.   
  
So, new John, just a new John without Sherlock and that was fine, everything was fine, he couldn't care less about it. Well, of course he could care less, he should stop lying to himself, things were going good but the memory of Sherlock followed him everywhere and in every time. It made sense, they had just broken up a week ago, he would need some getting used to it. That was all. He didn't miss him, certainly not. Nor he thought about it. Nor thought about what he could be doing at the moment. Nor thought that Victor was right there  with him, holding him, probably fucking him. Great. No, he didn't think about it.   
  
He was walking towards his car, completely drained after a long day which included Chemistry club, not that it brought him any memories of Sherlock. He just wanted to go to his house and lock himself in his room and stare at his letter.   
  
He was about to open the door of his car, when a black Chevy parked right in front of him, making it impossible for John to move his Bel-Air. John sighed, shaking his head. “Excuse me, could you please move your car so I can move mine? It's just-”, and then he froze, staring silently at who was in front of him.   
  
The door of the black car had opened to reveal Mycroft Holmes.   
  
John couldn't do anything else besides blinking.   
  
“Good evening, John.”   
  
John shook his head and tried to walk away but he couldn't, it was as if his feet were fixed to the ground. “…no.” He whispered.   
  
“I haven't said anything, have I?”   
  
“No, but I don't want to have anything to do with you or your- family. Goodbye.”   
  
“John”, Mycroft said calmly but with such authority that John felt threatened. “-save us some time and get into the car, please.”   
  
“No.”   
  
“John-”, Mycroft insisted.   
  
John dragged a deep breath. “Did he call you? Didn't he have the courage to talk to me face to face?”   
  
“That's not the case, John.”   
  
“I don't care what the bloody case is! There's nothing to talk about! There is nothing linking Sherlock Holmes and me whatsoever so you might as well go and look for someone else”, John said, trying to control the urge to shout at Mycroft because this was absurd.   
  
“I tried…believe me.”   
  
“Look for Victor Trevor, pretty sure he knows far much more about Sherlock than I ever will.”   
  
Mycroft nodded, agreeing with John. “Yes, of course he does, and he's using it against my brother right now. The only thing he can't resist, and he's using it to make him weak.”   
  
John's expression softened a bit for a second, but then he shook his head and told himself that he had nothing to do with Sherlock anymore so he shouldn't be worrying and he shouldn't be feeling this deep and intense pain on his chest at the mention of the greaser. “Hm- how unfortunate. Look for him, clearly he has more answers than I do.”   
  
Mycroft rolled his eyes. “John, my brother is in danger.”   
  
John clenched and unclenched his hands into fists, but shook his head. “He chose to be in danger”, he replied as coldly as possible.   
  
“Yes, he chose to be in danger to protect you.”   
  
John blinked, startled. It couldn't be, it simply couldn't. Mycroft was lying and Sherlock was lying and why the hell was everybody lying? “No.”   
  
“Please get in the car, I'll explain you.”   
  
John wanted to say no, he wanted to deny it, he wanted to run away from there and never know anything about Sherlock nor Mycroft Holmes anymore, but he simply couldn't find it in himself, the power to walk away. He scolded himself internally for being so weak, for not being strong enough to leave, but then, when was he ever strong when it came to Sherlock Holmes?   
  
He sighed and walked into the car. Mycroft greeted him with a victory smile. Pretentious git.   
  
“Hello, John Watson.”   
  
“Yes, yes, yes. On with it. I don't have much time.”   
  
“Congratulations on your scholarship. Bart's isn't it? I assume you'll be moving to London after graduating.”   
  
John frowned. “How did you- right I forgot, I'm talking to a Holmes. Why can't I just have a moment of peace without the Holmes coming and ruining everything?”   
  
“This is important, John.”   
  
The car started and John really regretted ever agreeing to get on the car.   
  
“I'm listening.” He replied, a little stubbornly.   
  
“What did my brother tell you?”, Mycroft asked calmly.   
  
“Why don't you ask him yourself?”, John replied,crossing his arms.   
  
“I'm afraid he wouldn't reply even if I could ask him.”   
  
“He said he'd run away with Victor and for me not to look for him ever ever again.” John hated to be telling this to Mycroft, but he knew that if there was someone in the world who hated Trevor as much as he did, that person would be Mycroft Holmes and John wanted that piece of shit to be as far apart from Sherlock as possible. He shouldn't want that, but he really, really did.   
  
“He lied to you”, Mycroft replied simply and John turned to look at him, frowning.   
  
“What?”, he asked, trying to conceal the astonishment he was feeling.   
  
“He didn't run away with Victor, in fact he didn't run away at all.”   
  
“I don't understand.” John said shaking his head.   
  
“He was captured, kidnapped. He's being tested”, Mycroft said, the slightest hint of a grimace drawing on his face.   
  
John stared at Mycroft as if he had lost his mind. “Tested? By whom?”   
  
Mycroft turned to look at John seriously before replying, “by the same people who were testing you.”   
  
“I wasn't being tested.”   
  
“No? How many pills did you manage to take before you collapsed, John?”   
  
John's eyes widened in realisation. “No…”   
  
“I'm certain they would have loved to test an addict. Nobody deceives like an addict. It promised to be quite the experiment.”   
  
“Are you telling me that Sherlock is being drugged… For testing?”   
  
“Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying.”   
  
“But why?”   
  
“They had taken you away from him”, Mycroft said, looking down.   
  
“Was he-?”, John tried to come up with something but his brain had apparently stopped working.   
  
“He was protecting you, yes. Call it how you like, I prefer to say he made an exchange. You for him.”   
  
“You're taking the piss?”   
  
Mycroft frowned, looking at John seriously. “I'm speaking with all truth, John. I'm not taking the piss.”, it sounded ridiculous coming from Mycroft’s mouth.   
  
“Where is he?”, John asked, still trying to understand what he'd been told.   
  
“I've already located him.”   
  
“And why on earth are you sitting here talking to me instead of rescuing your brother for God’s sake?”   
  
“Because he wouldn't agree to come with me. I know him John, he's far too stubborn for that.”   
  
“And Moriarty?”, John asked before he could stop himself.   
  
“He's working for the secret government.”   
  
“So that's why! You couldn't go against the ones you're working for! So you allowed them to make your brother suffer!”   
  
“Please John, I occupy a minor position in the Government. And no, I wasn't allowing it. I was declaring the project illegal.”   
  
John was having trouble breathing, most of all because he was fighting very, very hard against the impulse to  _kill_ Mycroft. “Shut the fuck up before I kick your ass, Mycroft!”   
  
Mycroft widened his eyes at John and stared at him, not quite believing what he’d said. “Excuse me?”   
  
“For God’s sake, your brother is in danger and all you can think of is making the project  _illegal?_ Didn’t it cross your mind- I don’t know, maybe  _trying_ to find him?”   
  
“People were working to locate him.”   
  
“But  _you_ weren’t. And why did you wait for so long to tell me? I would have looked for him everywhere.”   
  
Mycroft raised his eyebrows. “You’re very loyal.”   
  
“Yes.”   
  
“I wasn’t planning on contacting you, John. But I thought it better and my brother would prefer staying there than being rescued by me, he’d think I would take him back to rehabilitation, and he would refuse. You were the only viable choice.”   
  
“We’re here, sir”, said the driver,  _driver,_ as soon as the car stopped.   
  
“John, I need you to find Sherlock. I’ll take care of the rest”, Mycroft said, opening his door.   
  
John nodded. Then stood still for a moment, thinking. “Wait, are you planning on taking care of them  _alone?_ ”   
  
“Please John, being the British Government has its advantages”, Mycroft said, stepping out of the car.   
  
John got out of the car and stared at what was in front of him, speechless. “St. Bart’s? What the hell are we doing in St. Bart’s?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify: John and Sherlock live in a town nearby London, but not in London. I had planned it since the very beginning but I'd forgotten to write it. x


	45. It's Almost Tomorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I PROMISE you that next chapter will be uploaded sooner than this one. I'm sorry for taking so long, this one was sooooo hard to write and uni's been draining me. I'm really really sorry, but hey! we're almost finished! Once again thank you so much for your support! I'm so glad you've enjoyed it so far!!! I can assure you you'll enjoy what's to come! x

If John Watson had a word to describe St. Bart’s on a Monday in a rainy afternoon of 1957, he’d go for  _crowded._ Person after person after person. He saw faces everywhere, yet he couldn’t process them: his mind was still working around the fact (fact?) that Sherlock was protecting him. It couldn’t be. No, he was high but he remembered quite well what the greaser had said. He said he loved Victor and he wanted to be with him. That was it.   
  
Sherlock wasn’t protecting him.   
  
Still, now that he thought about it, it somehow  _made_ sense. Why was Sherlock there with him, then? Just to break up with him? That was stupid. Why after Sherlock talked to him John woke up in hospital? What if Sherlock really did what Mycroft said?   
  
Absurd.   
  
He shouldn’t be walking down ER, he shouldn’t be rushing, looking at faces, trying to see the greaser in the middle of the crowd.   
  
But he was.    
  
And he was almost running, trying to think about where he could possibly be. Mycroft had entered through the main door and had rushed somewhere John couldn’t tell, followed by two or three people who acted so naturally people wouldn’t suspect anything.   
  
He had no idea where to look for Sherlock. Was he really held captive in a place like  _this?_ It didn’t make sense.   
  
_Hidden in plain sight,_ a voice murmured inside of his head. A voice very, very similar to Sherlock’s. But no, not Sherlock. Not Sherlock. Ugh why did it have to be Sherlock’s voice?   
  
Right, focus. He had to focus.   
  
He went through the facts.   
  
He woke up in this hospital after being drugged. He barely remembered where he had been before. It was blurry. There was a dimly lit room, with just a bed and nothing around. The bed did look like taken from a hospital, but he couldn’t remember much more.   
  
But if it really  _was_ in this clinic, where could he find a room that was so empty and grey? If this was all surrounded by white and people? He kept walking, not knowing quite well where to look for. Did Mycroft even bring him to the right place? He wasn’t so certain of it.   
  
He found a tiny door which lead to the basement, did this hospital even have a basement? Well, it was the only dimly lit place, it made sense.   
  
But all he found was the parking lot, full of cars everywhere. He looked around and found nothing, for god’s sake where could Sherlock possibly be?   
  
He went upstairs and tried to think.  _Hidden in plain sight,_ the voice repeated, over and over. Where could that be? A bedroom of the hospital? No, no. Not a room, it’d be too easy for them to be found. A wing? No, very unlikely. Then  _where?_   
  
John closed his eyes and focused on sharpening his senses, he couldn’t remember much of what he’d seen, but he could try to remember what he’d heard, what he’d touch and what he’s smelled.   
  
_Heard._ Sherlock’s voice. Before that, Jim’s voice, but aside from that, not much. Music. A song. A song? Yes, a rock n’ roll song, something about a shark, he didn’t imagine that because he had never heard that song before. The hospital never played songs, lest of all rock n’ roll songs, no.   
  
There wasn’t this constant sound of people’s voices, whispers, cries of pain, no, nothing of that.   
  
So a lonely place, a place where sound would be muffled. That was a start.   
  
He walked through the first floor, looking around, he couldn’t find a single place which fitted on the description. Bloody hell, why couldn’t Mycroft give him details?   
  
He stopped on the stairs, looked up and walked towards the second floor. He stopped there, everything was normal, nothing unusual.   
  
Focus.   
  
_Smelled._ There was a weird smell in that room. It didn’t exactly smell like a hospital  _per se,_ it smelled… weird. It smelled… musty, as if it was an old place on the hospital, an abandoned place. Something that hadn’t been much used, lest of all cleaned. All of this looked so… normal. He sniffed but couldn’t detect that same smell.   
  
He went upstairs to the third floor but didn’t see anything unusual, he was starting to get stressed, to feel desperate. He had to calm down.   
  
_Touched._ The walls! The walls were different, were rougher, as if they were only made by bricks, with no painting on them. He remembered touching them to avoid falling down when his legs were starting to give up. Rough walls, rough walls, rough walls… could it be… a construction! A construction within the hospital?   
  
Perhaps… perhaps…  _perhaps an abandoned floor which was on construction and was never finished._ Sherlock’s voice said inside of John’s head.   
  
John jumped, his eyes widening in realization. When he had gotten out of Mycroft’s car and looked at the hospital he had seen one two three four five.  _Five_ rows of windows, meaning it had  _five_ levels.   
  
Yet only four were being used.   
  
Sherlock was on the fifth floor.   
  
He rushed towards the fourth floor, climbed the stairs as fast as he could and walked amongst the patients and the nurse who asked him what he needed and when he walked past her yelled that he didn’t have permission to do it so. He ignored her and tried to find the stairway to the fifth floor. Nothing. He looked around every corner, but couldn’t find a single door.   
  
_Hidden in plain sight, John, hidden in plain sight._   
  
He stopped in front of a small door, different from all the rest. He looked around, making sure nobody was passing by, and opened it quickly, closing it behind him.    
  
The fifth floor of St. Bart’s was dark and silent. And an abandoned construction. John was certain Sherlock had to be here, there wasn’t any other place where he could possibly be inside the hospital.   
  
None of Mycroft’s minions were there though, and if they were, John couldn’t see them, it was all too dark. The smell was musty, so at least he had gotten that right.   
  
A dimly lit hallway appeared right next to where he was standing. He could barely see it, he clenched his fists feeling a bit scared, dragged a deep breath and walked it, trying as hard as he could not to make a sound.   
  
A second later, he heard a voice saying something, the faintest of whispers, followed by a “shhh, love, shhhh!”   
  
John recognized the whisper immediately and his back stiffened.   
  
The hallway had a turn to the left and one to the right. He realized that from the end of the hallway to the left there was a tiny, tiny scrape of light shining. He leaned and walked slowly and silently towards it.   
  
Until he felt a hand on his mouth and a kick on his right leg that forced him to stop.   
  
“Oh, we were waiting for you”, John listened to the voice and found out it was Moran’s. “Thought you’d never come. Making us wait a whole week for  _this?_ What a disappointment, Watson.”   
  
John tried to fight back but this was the man who had thrown him towards the lockers and almost made him break his back. It was almost impossible fighting against this wall of muscles.   
  
John tried kicking him from his behind, to destabilize him, but it was way too hard from the way Moran was holding him and he barely got to kick softly the back of his calf. Moran laughed and held him tighter by the neck, making it almost impossible for John to breathe.   
  
“That all the best you’ve got?”, he said laughing, “Pathetic, Watson, pathetic”   
  
John tried to think but there was less and less oxygen and he needed to focus but he was finding it harder and harder.   
  
He opened his mouth, moved his head forward and captured one of Moran’s fingers in his teeth. He bit it as hard as he could, which made Moran flinch in pain and release him just a bit.   
  
John used that second as an advantage and kicked on Moran’s stomach with his elbow, which finally released him from the greaser’s hold.   
  
Moran looked up and was ready to attack, the look he gave to John could only be defined as  _murderous._ John felt completely terrified. He had managed to break free from Moran but there was no way in this world he would be as strong as him and any kind of fight with him will end up with John half-dead.   
  
So, if he couldn’t use his muscles, he’d use his brain.   
  
Before Moran could completely recover the air, John wiped his mouth and screamed with rage. “You call  _me_ pathetic? Am I the one running around like a monkey, trying to please someone with the stupid belief that it would make him love me someday?”   
  
Moran’s face did a weird thing while his brain apparently processed what John had just said. After a moment, he narrowed his eyes and walked closer but didn’t kick John. “What did you fucking say?”   
  
“What did he tell you? That if you’d do this he’d fuck you senseless until you couldn’t say anything else or think anything else but his name? That after all of this ended you’d be rich and happy and spend the rest of your life together?”, John laughed, looking down and shaking his head.   
  
Moran stared at him silently, mouth opening and closing.   
  
“Where is he now?, he left didn’t he? He knew this was going to happen so he ran away  _alone._ ”   
  
“I’m going to kick your balls out, Watson”, Moran warned, but didn’t move a single hand.   
  
“HE LIED TO YOU!”, John screamed. “And you believed every single word of it, because that’s what you do when you love someone, you follow him blindly!”   
  
That  _did_ earn him a blow to his face, it wasn’t delivered with all of Moran’s strength, but it was delivered to hurt enough so it would make him shut up. And John did, for a second. “SHUT UP!”   
  
“He’s not coming back genius!, now that Mycroft knows about this he’ll blame you for it, and you’ll accept, because he made you believe you two were meant to be! You’ll end up in prison waiting for the moment he’ll come back and rescue you.”   
  
“I AM NOT A POOF!”, Moran screamed.   
  
John shook his head. “Doesn’t mean you don’t love him.”   
  
Moran breathed heavily but didn’t reply. He fell silent.   
  
_Point for me._ “Don’t you see? He dragged you into this because he needed the muscle, because he needed someone intimidating to do the nasty job for him and you  _did_ it. But as soon as you sopped being useful he walked away, that’s how much you mean to him.”   
  
A second later John was kicked to the ground and had 15 stones of weight all over him.  _Point for him._   
  
“SHUT THE FUCK UP OR I’LL KICK YOUR BRAINS OUT!”, Moran yelled.   
  
John tried to breathe and to make his face look as nonchalant as possible. “What are you waiting for? Do it! But let me warn you something, it won’t bring him back! He won’t come for you. Nothing will change!”   
  
Moran threw another fist at John’s face, leaving him literally seeing stars. And again and again. But they weren’t as strong as one would expect them to be coming from a 15 stone bloke. John held into consciousness as much as he could.   
  
Moran landed a blow at his nose and started yelling. “SHUT UP! SHUT UP!”   
  
John swam out of unconsciousness enough to reply, “it won’t stop being less true.”   
  
Moran hit him on the cheeks, over and over, on the lip, on the nose. The musty smell of the fifth floor was replaced by the scent and the taste of blood and John needed a fucking miracle if he was to make it to the room where Sherlock was.   
  
Suddenly, the kicking stopped. John looked through his swollen eye and saw how Moran’s arm froze in the air and slowly went down. Moran was breathing heavily and looked down. And John had his fucking miracle.   
  
Moran stood up from John, walked towards one of the walls and leant into it, his head thrown back, his eyes closed.   
  
“You’re lying”, he said, his voice cracked.   
  
John tried to stand up but he couldn’t, his whole body hurt and his head was killing him. “You know I’m not.”   
  
“Is it true?”, he said, his eyes fixed on the floor. “They know about the plan?”   
  
“How do you think I got in here? I was high, I had no idea where I had been taken to, lest that Sherlock would be there too.”   
  
“Where are they?”   
  
“Securing the building.”   
  
Moran shook his head and breathed faster. “They’re taking me to prison?”   
  
“Probably. And Jim won’t.”   
  
“It isn’t fair. IT ISN’T FAIR! I HAVEN’T DONE SHIT I DON’T EVEN UNDERSTAND WHAT HE WAS DOING HERE!”   
  
John sighed. “You were here! That’s enough to treat you as an accomplice! You’ll spend a fair amount of years locked and when you get out Moriarty will be nowhere to be found!”   
  
Moran muttered under his breath, “fuck this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening.”   
  
“Leave.”   
  
Moran looked up. “What?”   
  
“Get the fuck out of here. Now.”   
  
“No. Jim asked me-”, he fell silent.   
  
“They’ll come in any second. Mycroft and the police. They’ll capture you.”   
  
“What difference will it make?”   
  
John shrugged. “Your choice. Stay here, kick my brains out and wait for someone who’s not going to appear. You’ll find the prison instead.”   
He tried to stand up and flinched. His head was spinning. He stood up slowly, wiped the blood off his face a little, and walked slowly towards the left. Moran didn’t stop him, he didn’t move at all. He stood against the wall, breathing heavily and shaking his head.   
  
He stayed in front of the closed door where the light was coming from and he slowly, silently opened it.   
  
And he was met with a gun aimed at him. And Victor Trevor was holding it.   
  
Sherlock was laying on the bed, muttering incoherently, his face flinching in pain and shuddering. All the fright John felt when he saw the gun vanished as soon as he saw Sherlock and it was replaced with rage. He stared at Victor defiantly.   
  
“Get out of here, nerd!”, Victor yelled, moving his gun.   
  
John raised an eyebrow. “Or…?”   
  
“I’ll shoot you!”, Victor said, his hand shaking more than he’d wish.   
  
John crossed his arms. “No you won’t.”   
  
“Fucking try me! I won’t let you take him for fuck’s sake! This ends now!”   
  
“You’ll fail”, John replied, trying to calm himself and to ignore Sherlock in the background.   
  
Victor snorted. “Fail? Do you think I haven’t done this before?”   
  
“Oh, I imagine you have. Still, you’ll fail.”   
  
“How so?”, Victor said, narrowing his eyes.   
  
“You’re high as a kite. You’re barely aware of what you’re doing and your gun is aimed to high, you overestimated my height. The bullet would fly past my head towards the wall you huge dick.”   
  
Victor tried to move his gun down to aim better at John and the boy shook his head. “Let me help, Trevor”, he said coming closer.   
  
The next things happened in a blur. John grabbed Victor at the wrist, controlling him so he wouldn’t aim his gun at him. He knew he wasn’t nearly as strong as Trevor but he had two advantages by his side: the fact that Victor was very,  _very_ high and the unbelievable rush of rage and adrenaline John was feeling at the moment.   
  
Next thing John did was landing a blow to Victor’s stomach, making him lose his air and then kick him on his calf to make him lose his balance, which he did. Victor let the gun go as soon as he felt he was falling, in order to use his hands to protect his face from the fall. Before Victor fell he kicked John on the front with his own head and John momentarily felt incredibly dizzy and barely could stand on his feet.   
  
While John was trying to recover from it, Victor kicked him on the right leg, forcing him to fall to the floor. Victor tried to recover the gun but John wouldn’t let go, they roamed through the floor, one over the other, until John gathered as much strength as he could and hit Victor on the head with the side of the gun. It felt liberating, as if he was finally getting some revenge for all the things Trevor had done to Sherlock, all the things Trevor had done to them.   
  
Victor fell unconscious, a small trail of blood falling from his temple.   
  
John dragged a deep breath, closing his eyes in relief. Once he felt better, he stood up and his eyes fixed on Sherlock.   
  
He left the gun on the night stand and sat on the bed, next to Sherlock. The greaser was half-unconscious, still muttering something, but unable to move, bordering on an overdose.   
  
And John  _panicked._ He had no idea what to do, how was he going to get them both out of here? Where the fuck was Mycroft? Why hadn’t he come yet? This wasn’t going to work out.   
  
He rubbed Sherlock’s cheekbone tenderly. “Sherlock, love. It’s me, John.”   
  
Sherlock flinched away from John’s hold and muttered a little louder. John leaned a bit closer but tried not to touch him, and he managed to grasp a few of the words Sherlock was saying.  _“No… Victor don’t, please I don’t want to…”_   
  
John didn’t need more words to understand. He was going to kill this fucker. He was to make him suffer for whatever he had done to Sherlock in this week. He was going to grab him by the neck and strangle him until he was the one begging for help, and then he would stand and look at the pain in his face.   
  
But first he needed to get Sherlock out of this place. Fast.   
  
And he had no idea how.   
  
“Sherlock”, he tried again, whispering into his ear. “Sherlock, I’m not going to hurt you. It’s me, John. God, I need you to wake up, please wake up.  _Please._ ”   
  
Sherlock kept muttering “no”.   
  
John joined their foreheads and closed his eyes. “I need you to wake up, Sherlock, we need to get you somewhere safe, but I can’t do it alone, please love, please.”   
  
Sherlock wasn’t waking up and John was losing it.   
  
He tried once again, his breath coming ragged because he was panicking. “Sherlock, wake up, love, please. God I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have listened to you, I shouldn’t have believed in what you said, I should have thought you would do something like this, I’m sorry. I love you.”   
  
Not how he imagined it would be the first time he’d say it.   
  
“John”, Sherlock muttered.   
  
“Yes, yes! I’m John. Sherlock wake up.  _Please._ I love you and I’m not going to leave you. I love you. But we need to get out of here, come on, please.”   
  
Two things happened at the same time: he felt Sherlock’s legs moving as they started to wake up and then he was pushed from where he was, his hold loosening from Sherlock.   
  
And Victor was holding the gun once again.   
  
And John was not having it, he couldn’t allow Victor to come and ruin everything, not after all the things he’d heard Sherlock mutter.   
  
“What did you do to him?”, John asked, full of rage.   
  
Victor smirked. “I told you, he’s all mine. Has been since the very first moment we met.”   
  
“He didn’t want to! He just said it!”, John said through clenched teeth.   
  
“He was unconscious! It didn’t matter!”   
  
And John had enough. He ran towards Victor, grabbed him by the wrist and they struggled for a while, each trying to hold the gun.   
  
In the end, it wasn’t him the one who made the shot.   
  
But he felt when the shot was made.   
  
More like he  _heard_ when the shot was made.   
  
He looked down at himself, suddenly terrified that perhaps he had been shot, he quickly checked his body, but didn’t find any major pain, nor more blood than the one he had when Moran hit him.   
  
Victor stood still, breathing heavily, his mouth open, while he gasped, completely frozen, his eyes fixed on a point further than John.   
  
But when John looked down, he realized that the gun wasn’t aimed at Victor, it was aimed at him. Or at a point past him.   
  
John turned to look and felt he was going to pass out.   
  
The bed which had been perfectly white a second before, was now red.   
  
Sherlock had been shot.


	46. Chances Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Control. The word slipped from John’s hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for leaving you for so long with that terrible cliffhanger. Thank you so much for your support, I hope you like this chapter! x

John stood still, frozen. He didn’t know what to do. All of the sudden the air was gone from his lungs and the environment was unlivable and he felt he was having a panic attack.   
  
But this wasn’t the time to get a panic attack. Not when Sherlock was in a goddamned gurney and flinching with pain. It was a terrible sight, the blood was slowly covering the sheets and Sherlock was moving, trying to do something, but his body was too numb from the drugs to actually form a coherent thought.   
  
John was too numb to form a coherent thought, too.   
  
Until Victor exclaimed. “Shit!”   
  
_Shit. Shit. Shit. This little piece of shit._   
  
John was filled with rage, and before Victor could even react, he knocked him on the face, his fist crashing roughly with his nose. He could feel the exact moment when the bones broke and he hated to admit that he  _enjoyed_ it. Victor’s face was covered with blood while John took the gun from him.   
  
Victor reacted and looked at John with genuine hate in his eyes. “You piece of-”.   
  
“I would advise you to move away, Victor, if you don’t want to find yourself in more trouble than you clearly are”, a voice behind them said calmly.   
  
John moved his head a bit and found Mycroft, standing on the doorstep, leaning on his umbrella and looking as if nothing was happening. John sighed, relieved.   
  
Victor’s fist stood raised in the air, until he slowly put it down. Two of Mycroft’s agents came in and immediately handcuffed him. Victor spat a bit of blood, and his face looked completely nonchalant, as if he didn’t give a shit about the rest of the world.   
  
“You’re under arrest. I’m certainly looking forward to the trial. Take him to the Police car”, Mycroft indicated calmly.   
  
John wanted to  _punch_ him. “Where the hell were you!!!!!?”   
  
Mycroft frowned, then his eyes moved towards the bed where Sherlock was moving and hissing in pain. In that second, the façade slid from his face. For that single, tiny moment, Mycroft stopped looking like a wanna-be king of the world, but more like a 26 year-old worried brother feeling the weight of the world over his shoulders and trying to carry on with an addicted brother. And John saw it clearly, and he could read him like an open book. Sherlock was certainly Mycroft’s weak spot.   
  
It really, only lasted a second.   
  
The stoic face was back in place when he asked calmly, “what happened?”   
  
John ran towards Sherlock and uncovered him, his fingers roamed on the bloodied area, scanning, but they were shaking too much, he tried to control them but it wasn’t working.  _Control. Control. No. He_ couldn’t because it was _Sherlock and there was blood and he was in pain_ and John was losing it.   
  
Mycroft removed John’s hands steadily and looked at the injury fixedly. “It’s just a scratch. The bullet roamed through his ankle, but apparently there’s not a major wound.”   
  
John stared at his fingers, stained with red. Red. He’d always liked color red, it looked like life, like the cover of his favorite book, it looked like passion, like temptation, it was always something he could relate to Sherlock. Red was rock n’ roll. Red was Sherlock singing to Roll Over Beethoven. Red was kissing on Dewer’s Hollow. Red was touching him.   
  
Red was Sherlock’s blood. Red was death. Red was pain. Red was losing him.   
  
Red was something he was never going to associate with Sherlock, ever again.   
  
He felt sick to his stomach. “We need to take him downstairs! He- Jesus Mycroft, he’s NOT okay, he’s in pain, he’s unconscious, he- he- he-”   
  
_Control._ The word slipped from John’s hands. He started breathing heavily, suddenly preoccupied he might be having some sort of heart attack. He sat on the floor because his legs were giving in. He heard Mycroft’s voice, a distant echo sounding through the rumble of Sherlock’s voice while he sang Heartbreak Hotel when John was driving.   
  
“For God’s sake, John, breathe!”, Mycroft said rolling his eyes.   
  
_You’ll be so lonely you could die._   
  
_“SHUT UP! STOP SINGING!”_   
  
_“You liked that song, though.”_   
  
_“I did not.”_   
  
_“You did. I remember.”_   
  
_“Why can’t we go back to that time?”_   
  
_“Because time goes by. And so do we. And we move on. And we must survive. That’s life.”_   
  
_“Will you?”_   
  
_“I always survive a fall.”_   
  
_“What if you don’t?”_   
  
_“Then I don’t. It doesn’t matter. It always ends.”_   
  
_“What ends? You?, life?, us?”_   
  
_“Everything. People spend their whole lives trying to find out who they are, what they’ll be. Idiots. They don’t see, all you need to understand life is that eventually everything as we know it will collapse. We are destined to fall. Over and over again. The wheel turns. Nothing is ever new.”_   
  
_“I refuse.”_   
  
_“It’s simple logic, John.”_   
  
_“I give a damn about logic! Life is not about falling, life is about landing. Falling is just the beginning.”_   
  
_“I’m falling.”_   
  
_“Then you’ll land. On one side or the other. It’s always a new beginning.”_   
  
_“It’s the ground.”_   
  
_“It’s the life.”_   
  
_“You’re losing it. Again. Control.”_   
  
_“I already lost it. It was a cloudy morning, on a boring place, crashing towards someone.”_   
  
_“You need to land.”_   
  
_“So do you.”_   
  
_“I will.”_   
  
_“I’m counting on that.”_   
  
_“Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out. Better?”_   
  
_“When you wake up, I’ll tell you”._   
  
_“Red”, the voice replied._   
  
John opened his eyes and stared at Mycroft, his eyes widened. “Feeling better?”, someone asked.   
  
John nodded absentmindedly and looked up an agent was eyeing him curiously. He turned to look towards the bed and found it empty, the room was now crowded with agents collecting evidence and examining every single object in there.   
  
“Where is Sherlock?”   
  
“He was taken to the ER of the hospital. Mr. Holmes took him there.”   
  
John stood up. “How long have I been here?”   
  
“Around half an hour. We tried to wake you up, but you wouldn’t react. Are you okay son? You have blood in your hands.”   
  
_Red._   
  
“Where is the ER?”, John asked desperately.   
  
“Second floor”, the agent replied.    
  
John rushed as fast as he could towards the second floor.   
  
He found Mycroft sitting on the waiting area. As soon as Mycroft saw him, he frowned. “Feeling better, John?”   
  
John shook his head and sat silently next to Mycroft. “Where is he?”, he asked after a long silence.   
  
Mycroft sighed and rubbed his eyes. “The head doctor is treating him. Trying to control the overdose.”   
  
“And now what?”   
  
“Now we wait.”   
  
“Why did you take so long?”   
  
Mycroft looked around as if to make sure they couldn’t be heard. “We had to deal with the Moriarty matter before. I knew he had escaped, and so we went looking for him.”   
  
“And?”   
  
Mycroft looked down. “We’re still looking for him.”   
  
John sighed and shook his head. “Fuck”, he muttered.   
  
“I strongly agree.”   
  
“What about Victor?”, John asked, clenching his fists almost as soon as he pronounced the name.   
  
“He’s facing jail, certainly”, Mycroft turned to look at John. “I had been preparing a case towards him ever since Sherlock had his first OD. I investigated him for a very long time, and he finally gave us the perfect ammunition to put him away from my brother’s life for a while.”   
  
“I’ll make sure to put him away forever.”   
  
“I must say I’m surprised by your loyalty towards my brother. I never expect this kind of-”, Mycroft hesitated a little, “…compromise on your behalf”.   
  
John shrugged. “I love him”, he simply said.   
  
“Thank you, John.” Mycroft said sincerely. John nodded but didn’t reply. They stood silent.   
  
\------------------   
  
At some point in the night, John remembered that his mom would probably be dying of nervousness because he had disappeared, without calling her, so he went to the closest telephone box and called.   
  
Harry replied. “Hello?”, her voice sounded more like a whisper than like her real, loud voice.   
  
“Harry?”   
  
“Oh god! John, where are you? Are you okay?”, Harry asked, keeping her voice low, but still saying it surprised.   
  
“Yes, yes. I’m fine, listen, I need you to tell mom that everything’s fine. I just, I’m in the hospital-”   
  
“YOU WHAT?”, Harry said loudly, and then she cursed lowly. “What happened?”   
  
“No, nothing to me. I’m fine. Well- yes, fine. It’s- it’s Sherlock.”   
  
“Sherlock?”, Harry asked whispering again. “Hadn’t you broken up?”   
  
“Yes but-, John sighed. “It’s a long story, I promise you I’ll explain later.”   
  
A shout sounded in the background. Harry ignored it and asked, “Is he alright?”   
  
“He-”, John closed his eyes. “No, no he isn’t. He overdosed.”   
  
“That bastard!”, Harry said with rage. “Won’t he ever learn?”   
  
“It wasn’t like that Harry! Ugh- I, I’ll explain later, I swear. Now would you please tell mom that I’ll stay at the hospital tonight?”   
  
Harry sighed. “Yes. I will. Later.”   
  
“What is going on? Why are you whispering? Why is there shouting?”   
  
A long silence stretched out. “He’s hitting her”, Harry’s voice broke.   
  
John clenched his jaw. “Is- is it my fault?”   
  
“No, he hasn’t even noticed you’re gone. He just arrived home really drunk and she complained about it and he started hitting her.”   
  
“Jesus, Harry. How’s mom?”   
  
“Fighting back. I won’t let him do her any harm, I swear. I just- why Johnny? Why is he like that?”   
  
John shook his head, biting his lip. “I don’t- I don’t know. I don’t understand”, he whispered.   
  
“Call me later, okay?”   
  
“I will. Please take care of mom. God, please.”   
  
“I will”, she said hanging up.   
  
John returned to the ER to find Mycroft with what he could only call a worried expression drawing on his face. Of course in Mycroft’s case, that meant just that he was frowning and his mouth was in a thin line. John realized immediately that something was wrong. “What happened?”, he asked.   
  
“He got his stomach washed. They found at least 17 pills of LSD still undigested. He also was starting to show signs of malnutrition and he was dehydrated. He got stitches on his ankle, and he’s being treated for the injury, but John, he was supposed to wake up around an hour ago and he hasn’t.”   
  
“But how? If he got a stomach wash he has no reason to remain unconscious.”   
  
Mycroft closed his eyes. “It was a very serious overdose.”   
  
John rubbed his eyes, he wondered when was the last time he had gotten a proper rest, probably before he was kidnapped. He sighed, feeling defeated. “Can I see him?”   
  
Mycroft shook his head. “No. They’ll leave him alone for tonight. Hopefully tomorrow, once he’s awake, he’ll receive visitors.”   
  
“What if he doesn’t wake up?”, John asked, feeling his throat tightening.   
  
Mycroft shrugged and looked down. “I think we both know the answer to that question.”   
  
\----------------   
  
John didn’t get any sleep. He didn’t feel like eating, and he could do nothing else but sit and wait.   
  
At some point in the night, a nurse came to take care of his own injuries, a swollen black eye and a split lip, nothing too serious. It all was a blur to him, he didn’t remember when he had been treated. He didn’t remember most of the night, he just remembered sitting in silence with Mycroft, resisting the urge to call Harry again. He felt like his whole life was collapsing in front of him: Sherlock in hospital  _not waking up,_ his mom fighting with his dad, his mom being hit, his mom…   
  
Suddenly it was morning. The sun shone through the dim and dirty windows of St. Bart’s, casting a new light over the waiting area, the particles of dust flying in the air.  _Dust is eloquent,_ Sherlock had said once, long time ago. Now Sherlock was not waking up.   
  
Mycroft had his hands joined below his chin in a pose so familiar that John felt he was going to be sick of his stomach. He stood up and dragged a deep breath, before turning to Mycroft and almost shouting, “why haven’t they said anything else? Who do they think they are?”   
  
Mycroft didn’t react to John’s outburst, he simply looked at him and calmly replied, “What could they possibly tell us if nothing has happened?”   
  
“I don’t know, they could say anything! At least not leave us like this, for God’s sake!”, John felt like punching something, seriously.   
  
“They’re doing what they can, John.”   
  
“They’re not doing enough because Sherlock hasn’t bloody woken up!”, John started to shout again and people in the waiting area were turning their heads towards him.   
  
“There’s nothing we can do either, so if you’d be so kind to sit down and lower your voice tone, John…”   
  
“The hell I will! I need to know something, Jesus, Mycroft what if he’s dying at this exact moment and-”   
  
“Don’t.” Mycroft said sharply, cutting him mid-sentence and raising a hand to make John stop talking. He closed his eyes. “Don’t, John.”   
  
John looked down. “I’m sorry, I just… I can’t take this, how on earth can you be so calm?”   
  
“I’ve been in this place before.”   
  
“How was it like?”, John asked softly, suddenly feeling sorry for Mycroft, a teenage Mycroft, taking his brother’s hand, checking for any signs of life. Sherlock had been in rehab three times. How had the other times been?   
  
“Like this”, Mycroft replied simply, not wanting to say anything else.   
  
John closed his eyes, tried to regulate his breathing, trying not to shout when he opened his mouth again. “Mycroft, I need to see him.”   
  
“I told you, John, we can’t.”   
  
“I don’t give a damn if we can or not!”, he was shouting again, apparently it was impossible not to, “you’re the bloody British government and you can do whatever the hell you want to, now go there and pull your freaking rank before I lose my mind!”, he said pointing at Mycroft.   
  
Mycroft raised an eyebrow, clearly not amused, but after a moment he stood up, “I’ll see what I can do”, he said walking away.   
  
John dragged a deep breath and closed his eyes, and suddenly everything was dark, and he needed it. He fell asleep without realizing it, and when he opened his eyes, Mycroft was sitting next to him, reading a newspaper. “Oh good, you’re awake”, without taking his eyes off the paper.   
  
John frowned. “How long have I been sleeping?”, he asked.   
  
“Three hours and twenty two minutes”, Mycroft replied, still not looking at him.   
  
“What happened?”, John asked, yawning.   
  
“I already saw him, you can go any time you want, oh, and Moriarty was found”, he replied as if it was the simplest thing in the world.   
  
“What?”, John asked in disbelief, sitting up.   
  
“He died”, was all Mycroft said.   
  
“He…  _what?_ ”   
  
“His body was found on the terrace of the hospital. Apparently my incompetent team was incapable of looking there. Absurd. He shot himself.”   
  
“When?”, John asked surprised, and a little bit terrified.   
  
“Yesterday. As soon as he realized the government had admitted its participation on the experiment and ordered the capture of those who were involved on it.”   
  
“Are you certain it’s him?”   
  
Mycroft looked at John with a  _don’t be an idiot_ face. “Yes. Yes we are.”   
  
It was unbelievable, how far someone could go just to fulfill what? An ambition? An obsession? An addiction? A-  _wait._ “You saw Sherlock?”   
  
Mycroft nodded, his eyes fixed on that damn newspaper. “I did.”   
  
John stood up. “How is he?”   
  
“Unconscious.”   
  
John rolled his eyes. “for God’s sake!  _Wait._ What did you say? Can I go?”   
  
Mycroft nodded.   
  
John didn’t stand for another second, he almost ran towards Sherlock’s room.   
  
He opened the door slowly. It was so impersonal, a hospital room. The white walls, the poor illumination, nothing but a hospital bed and a chalkboard with his name written on it, on one of the corners there was a little plastic chair. Sherlock looked like he was sleeping deeply, it was a nice sight, he looked so peaceful, so calmed, except for… Well, except he was unconscious.   
  
John walked slowly towards Sherlock and took his hand. It was cold. The pulse was a bit uneven, but it was there. He was also breathing by himself, which was a good thing, so why was John’s hand shaking so much?   
  
He swallowed, and when he started to speak, his voice quivered. “A… A long time ago I read a book. An anatomy book”, he laughed a little. “I know, I know, you’re not surprised, probably you’re bored by now but please ask your brain to shut up and let me continue with the story. The book talked about unconsciousness, and well- it, it said that when a patient was unconscious, they still managed to hear and understand. I don’t know if this is true, I don’t know how on earth they managed to test if it was true, I don’t even understand how they had that hypothesis, but I have nothing left than to hold to that belief. I hope you’re listening, you better do Holmes.   
  
“My first mistake was believing in you. But in my defense I was involuntarily high, and you had been an idiot before. A good kind of idiot, but still an idiot. You know? Nine months ago I would have never dreamt of calling a greaser an idiot, and here I am, holding a greaser’s hand, and wishing for him to open his eyes and look at me. I’ve always sucked at words, but still, I felt like believing in science, so I needed to talk to you. But anyway, I believed you, I thought you really were gone, I thought you had chosen that son of…, and I’m sorry, I should have known, I should have done something. You don’t deserve this, Sherlock. You made bad choices before, but we all do, and you don’t deserve it, you need to understand that. I also need you to wake up, because I need to tell you that I love you. I hadn’t said it when I had the chance, but I do, I really do. You need to know. And I don’t trust science that much, I need you conscious to hear it. I don’t understand how it happened, nor when it did. Perhaps at first sight, perhaps I was too terrified to admit it, but hey, you were intimidating. Perhaps that time we stayed at your house and you played Roll Over Beethoven, or maybe when I woke up next to you on the couch of your laboratory. I don’t know, it doesn’t matter. The important thing is I do. I really do, Sherlock. And I need you to hear it.  _Please_ wake up. Please”, up at that point, John was feeling his eyes wet and he had to stop talking.   
  
He sat silently on the chair, holding Sherlock’s hand, not daring to say anything else, hoping scientists didn’t know yet that unconscious people could  _feel_ the touch.   
  
“You really love him, don’t you?”, he jumped at the unexpected voice whispering in his ear.   
  
He turned and found his mom standing right behind him, her face expressionless. She looked back at him, “-as more than a friend, I mean.”   
  
John swallowed. He thought about telling her, but he was never really certain of doing it, she might love him very very much but this was still seen as some kind of unforgivable sin, so what if she felt ashamed of her own son? John would never tolerate such thing. He reflected for a moment and decided there was no point hiding it anymore, so he braced himself for what was about to come and he nodded. “Yes. Yes I do.”   
  
His mom nodded and stood silent for a while, her eyes turning to look at Sherlock. “…does he love you back?”, she asked, whispering.   
  
John turned to look at Sherlock. He looked so peaceful, so calm. He couldn’t help but smile a little at the sight. “Yes. I think he does.”   
  
His mom nodded once again but didn’t say anything back. John wanted to listen what was going on in her head. At least she hadn’t run away yet.   
  
He decided to break the silence. “How are you? Harry told me-”   
  
His mom’s poker face finally shifted to show a little grimace. “That’s why I came here…”, she looked down. “I need to talk to you, John.”   
  
John got worried. “Is everything okay?”, he asked, his heart started rushing.   
  
She swallowed and shook her head. She looked up and met her son’s eyes. “John, I left your father.”   
  
John frowned. “What?”   
  
She started breathing unevenly, she looked like it was taking all her will to hold her tears back. “I’m exhausted. I’ve had enough of this, I couldn’t take it anymore, so I decided to leave. I’m sorry.”   
  
John didn’t reply.   
  
“John, I really am sorry, but I can’t- I can’t go back there. I packed your things, Harry helped me, and we moved to your aunt’s house. Please, don’t hate me.”   
  
John finally blinked. “No mom”, he smiled, “I’m so proud of you.” He pulled her into a tight hug.   
  
She hugged him back and cried into his shoulder.  “I’m sorry.”   
  
“Don’t be. You should have done this a long time ago.”   
  
“I know, I know”, she said shaking her head and calming herself down. “I’ll stay with your aunt, you and Harry will be gone soon so I hope I won’t be a bother for her.”   
  
John felt like he was about to cry too, he couldn’t put it into words. He admired his mother, he really did. He didn’t need to be a genius to deduce his mom’s friends’ faces whenever they reunited for bridge. They were all so unhappy. Stuck on unhappy marriages, with unhappy husbands, unable to run away.   
  
But his mom was stronger. Society be damned, she was unhappy and she was getting a divorce.   
  
He had never felt prouder of his mom, he wanted to-  _wait._ “Harry? Harry will be  _gone_ ?”   
  
Harry had been through a crisis recently. She didn’t know what to do with her life and at that point she didn’t even care, and now she was leaving?   
  
His mom nodded. “She’s leaving to America. She got a job in New York City. Remember your cousin? Tom?, he said he needed a new assistant for the car shop he has there, and asked me if any of you would be interested. I imagined you would’ve said no because of your scholarship, so I asked her, and she seemed thrilled with the idea of leaving.”   
  
John wanted to kick Harry’s ass for not telling him, but he also felt very sad. He would never admit it, but he would miss Harriet so very much. He sighed. He also felt very proud of her. It really was a mix of feelings at the moment, and  _Sherlock still wasn’t bloody awake._   
  
“That’s- that’s great mom, really. I just don’t want you to be alone.”   
  
She smiled and shook her head. “Nonsense. I’ll stay with my sister!”, somehow she now managed to look very happy.   
  
John smiled at her and nodded. “I’m so happy for you, mom.”   
  
His mother’s eyes turned to Sherlock again. “What happened to him?”   
  
John sighed. “He was kidnapped.”   
  
His mom stared at him in disbelief. “He-  _what?_ ”   
  
John closed his eyes and nodded. “Mom, he almost died”, John swallowed so he wouldn’t end up crying like an idiot in front of his mother.   
  
“And how is he?”, his mom asked worriedly.   
  
“He’ll be fine, I think. The- the doctor said he should be awake by now, but he still hasn’t. And I-”, he choked, he couldn’t keep talking.   
  
“I’m sure he will wake up, just give him some time love.”   
  
It should have been comforting, but it hadn’t. He nodded, ordering himself  _not_ to cry.   
  
“Is it okay?”   
  
His mom looked up at him, clearly distracted. “Hmm…?”   
  
John turned to look at Sherlock and then his mom, silently asking her if she was okay with them being together.   
  
She dragged a deep breath. John braced himself for the reply, but all he received was a shrug, he frowned at her. She raised her eyebrows and replied, “I’d be lying if I said this took me by surprise, sweetheart. The way you looked at him, the way he looked at you… I saw it coming. Doesn’t mean I agree with it. I mean, I don’t  _disagree._ And even if I did, would that stop you?”, John smiled and shook his head. His mom nodded. “But you- just be very careful with it, alright John?, you know how it is, people talks.”   
  
“People do little else, mom.”   
  
“Still, there’s a lot of hate, so, just be careful.”   
  
He nodded. “I promise.”   
  
“Your father can’t know”, his mom said, the bitterness coming back to her voice.   
  
John agreed, biting his lip. His father was an idiot.   
  
“He’s a nice young man, Sherlock”, his mom said out of nowhere.   
  
“Yeah, I guess he is”, John smiled.   
  
His mom looked down. “I’ll be on the waiting room if you need me.”   
  
John shook his head. “No mom, no need for you to stay.”   
  
She looked at him seriously before replying, “I want to.”   
  
John nodded. “Thank you mom.”   
  
His mom gave him a kiss on the bruised cheek, thankfully she hadn’t asked him anything about it, perhaps she didn’t want to know. He hugged her one last time and she walked away. John sat on the chair, he would stay fixed there until Sherlock woke up. He wasn’t going anywhere.   
  
“She made the right choice.”   
  
John stood up as fast as he could. God, he had missed that voice.


	47. Any Way You Want Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We’ll find a way, I know we will-”

He walked fast towards the bed. Sherlock was staring at him with a wide smile, looking at him through half-lidded eyes. John smiled back. “You idiot! How long have you been listening?”  
  
Sherlock’s words came a bit slurred but it was  _him,_ Sherlock, the Sherlock he loved, awake, conscious and talking, it was more than what John could have ever asked for.  
  
Sherlock tried to shrug but apparently his body was hurting too much, so he stopped shrugging halfway through it and grimaced. John touched his shoulder softly, trying to stifle the pain just a little. Sherlock replied forcedly, “enough time”, he replaced the grimace with a smile once again, “actually-”  
  
He was interrupted by John kissing him, on his cheek, on his forehead, on his nose, he kissed him over and over and over, because the whole situation was surreal, he couldn’t believe that Sherlock was okay, that they had survived to  _that._  
  
And Sherlock, surprisingly enough, started to giggle. “John!”  
  
John kept pressing kisses wherever he could, he needed to hold into this moment.  
  
Sherlock groaned, and John finally lifted his head to stare at him, but Sherlock was not laughing, his face was contorted in pain, once again. He moved from him immediately, “sorry.”  
  
Sherlock sighed, “no, it’s- it’s okay, it’s just- my whole body hurts too much.”  
  
“How are you feeling besides that?”, John asked warily.  
  
“A bit sleepy”, Sherlock said, his eyes threatening to close themselves once again and lock him away from the real world to drive him towards a world of hallucinations he really, really didn’t want to visit at the moment.  
  
“It was very serious overdose, Sherlock”, John said, his happy expression leaving his face as soon as he remembered how it had been like to see Sherlock laying on that bed, with Victor next to him. He shook the thought away, because he was afraid his voice might expose him. He turned to look at one of the sides of the room, “plus, you’re connected to morphine.”  
  
John suddenly felt terrified about the thought of Sherlock growing dependent to morphine. As far as he knew, LSD wasn’t addictive, but morphine could destroy a mind as reckless and unstoppable as Sherlock’s. He shook that thought away, too.  
  
Sherlock frowned at that, confused. “Morphine, why?”  
  
And this time, John’s voice  _did_ expose him. “Your-”, he choked, “your foot.”  
  
Sherlock’s frown deepened and John realized that Sherlock didn’t feel anything unusual on his foot, so he had to explain it to him. He swallowed. “You were... Jesus. Victor shot you.”  
  
Sherlock’s eyes widened. “What?”, he asked, shaking his head more forcefully than it was appropriate.  
  
He looked like he was about to go through a panic attack, so John tried to calm him. He grabbed his hand, it was cold and shaking, probably a collateral effect of the drug. “Sherlock, stop shaking your head, you’ll end up dizzier.”  
  
“It- it just doesn’t make sense”, Sherlock said, but his face had gone back to his expression before John had told him, so that was a good thing. “I- is my foot fine?”, he asked nervously.  
  
John rubbed the back of his hand with his thumb and nodded. “Yes. Everything is fine. No major damage, hopefully you’ll be able to walk soon.”  
  
That seemed to calm Sherlock enough.  
  
“What about-?”, Sherlock looked down, unable to finish the sentence.  
  
_He can’t say his name… it’s too painful to say his name._  
  
“He’s in prison”, John replied, sharply. “Won’t get out of there for a while.”  
  
Sherlock nodded, not looking at John.  
  
“What about Moriarty?”, he asked after a long moment of silence.  
  
John shrugged. “Dead. Killed himself.”  
  
Sherlock’s eyes widened and he positively blanched. The last trace of color the pills hadn’t taken with them had completely left Sherlock’s face. “What?”  
  
“Yes”, was all John replied. He wished he could give Sherlock any detail about it, but that was all he knew. All he needed to know.  
  
Sherlock stood silent and it was one of those moments when John wished he could read what was in his mind, that he could get in there and unveil the mystery. It was stupid, he knew that, Sherlock had pretty much opened himself to him like a book, every word drawn like a scar over his body, over his mind, and yet John still wondered. He hated it, but he had no idea how to make it stop.  
  
Finally, the greaser spoke up, his voice more slurred than it was moments ago, and his eyes already closing. “I never expected to see you again”, he said, slipping back into drowsiness.  
  
John kissed Sherlock’s knuckles, in the hand he had been holding all that time, after he felt like he wasn’t going to burst into tears, the only thing that came to his mind was a “me neither”,  _but for completely different reasons._  
  
Sherlock had already fallen asleep.  
  
\-----------  
  
Sherlock returned home three days later. John would return from school and visit him every day in the afternoon. Sherlock always received him with a scowl, saying that he was bored and that he could be solving a case in that moment. There were other times when he would start licking his lips over and over, or start tapping his fingers on his legs, standing up, then sitting down. John understood the symptoms immediately: withdrawal.  
  
So John tried to distract him as much as he could, but it was hard because of Sherlock’s dark moods. He didn’t feel like talking, he didn’t feel like thinking about crimes, he didn’t even feel like kissing, so they would mostly sit in silence while rock n’ roll played loudly and Sherlock smoked a cigarette after another. The smell made John uncomfortable but he knew it was better not saying anything on it, at least until Sherlock would start feeling better.  
  
Fortunately, the shot they never talked about, made by the person none of them ever brought up, hadn’t made much damage to the bone, and Sherlock was forced to use a bandage until he was able to put his weight on his foot. In the long run, it was as if nothing had happened. Well, except for the ugly scar Sherlock wanted desperately to hide from John’s sight.  
  
Eventually, it was easier. Five days after Sherlock was taken home, he received John with a smile and had changed his pajamas for his leather jacket and his blue jeans and god he was so hot. John smiled widely at him. It was Sunday and their last week of class was about to start.  
  
John knew he had to do this. He had been expecting the right moment to do it so, but no moment seemed appropriate for it. This one did, and so he gathered courage, clenched his fists, dragged a deep breath and finally spoke up, “I got a scholarship”.  
  
Sherlock stared at him fixedly, his eyes widened, silently. John tried smiling weakly at him.  
  
“Where?”, Sherlock whispered.  
  
“London. Bart’s, actually.”  
  
Sherlock’s eyes widened even more at the mention of the name, which was stupid, St. Bartholomew’s hospital wasn’t even where he was going to study, he would just do his practice there, but the university was in another building.  
  
Silence.  
  
More silence.  
  
“Sherlock… say something, please”, John pleaded, trying to figure something out from Sherlock’s expressionless face.  
  
Sherlock blinked, as if he had finally reacted, and looked at John. “Congratulations! You deserve it!”, he tried for a smile but it really, really failed miserably, so he went for a huge instead.  
  
John swallowed and hugged him as tightly. He closed his eyes and he felt like he could read Sherlock’s mind.  _So what now?_  
  
“We’ll find a way, I know we will-”  
  
Sherlock broke the hug and placed a finger over John’s lips, silencing him. He smiled weakly at him. “Not now,  _please.”_  
  
John nodded and they fell silent once again. John hated this, this uncertainty, this wasn’t supposed to happen, Sherlock was supposed to be happy for him.  
  
“I thought you’d be happier”, John said, trying not to sound as disappointed as he felt.  
  
Sherlock closed his eyes and shook his head. “No, no, it’s not that. It’s just- I have to be stuck in school for another year, and once my parents find out they’ll put me in another one, and I’m exhausted.”  
  
John’s eyes widened. “What?”  
  
“I didn’t do any of the final exams and I wasn’t going that good in the other grades, so… I won’t get graduated, I’ll be stuck in here and you’ll be in London…”  
  
John thought for a second. This sucked, all of this sucked. “Sherlock, you were sick, in  _hospital,_ there has to be something, there’s still a week left-”  
  
“And you expect me to catch up on all the classes on  _one_ week, John?”  
  
John leaned closer and took Sherlock’s hands in his. “Yes”, he said looking at Sherlock fixedly. “Of course you can! You’re a genius, you can do anything, love!”  
  
Sherlock side-smiled at him.  
  
“I’ll help you, we’ll do it. We will. Plus, you already have an A+ in history!”, John said excitedly.  
  
Sherlock raised his eyebrows, “we got an A?”  
  
John nodded, beaming at him. “Yes! The teacher loved it!”  
  
Sherlock smiled widely. Finally he spoke again. “Being forced to pair up with you was the best thing that could have possibly ever happened to me.”  
  
“Agree”, John said, leaning closer. And finally, God finally, they were kissing again after that time at the hospital.  
  
Sherlock pressed himself against John as he held him tightly, tugging softly at John’s short hair. John moaned a bit as he felt Sherlock’s fingers over his scalp and Sherlock gasped at hearing John’s moan. He knew where this was going to, and he  _wanted_ to, god, he wanted to, but they had other things they had to focus on.  
  
He bit Sherlock’s lower lip, and slowly broke the kiss. Sherlock stared at him, his cheeks flushed as he panted. Sherlock frowned at John.  
  
John giggled. “You look lovely.”  
  
Sherlock narrowed his eyes.  
  
John rolled his eyes. “We have to start studying right now”, he said winking at Sherlock.  
  
Sherlock’s mouth opened. “How do you expect me to focus when you leave me like this?”  
  
John cracked in laughter and sat next to Sherlock, grabbing some books from the shelves, and they started to study.  
  
\-----------  
  
The rest of the days went by in a rush, Sherlock talked to the teachers and made puppy eyes at them and played Mr. Charming and somehow they all agreed to make him a special test or let him present a paper later in the week.  
  
Each day John would go with him to his house and they would sit for hours, doing those papers, studying for the tests and working very very hard. Sherlock would grow frustrated and have outbursts of anger in which he would just stand up and walk away from the laboratory without saying a word.  
  
John filled himself with patience, and told himself that he was doing this for Sherlock, because he was leaving him and this was the least he could do.  
  
He didn’t know what they were going to do. They had to figure something out. But that would come later.  
  
On Friday, Sherlock received his final grade: he passed chemistry (he was a genius on chemistry anyway). And school year was finally over.  _And Sherlock freaking Holmes passed all the classes._  
  
Last day was a bit emotional. Mike was entering to Bart’s too, although without a scholarship, but John was glad he would have a… friend (yes, friend) there with him. He was waiting outside of the chemistry lab for Sherlock when he turned to look to the right of the hall and looked at a couple snogging against the lockers. He stared at them, they were so lucky they could just kiss in public without being afraid of being put in jail. He sighed. He hated that, having to hide his love for Sherlock from everybody else, it was so stupid, it was so-  _hang on,_ the couple snogging was… was that Lestrade? And was that… Molly?  
  
He frowned at them as they broke the kiss. Molly seemed to realize because she flushed and looked down. Lestrade turned to look at John and cleared his throat. John walked towards him. “Greg, Molly, hi.”  
  
Molly smiled at him and nodded, and then looked down again. Greg smiled widely and pulled John into a hug. “Watson! Sherlock told me all about, you know… Well done, kiddo.”  
  
John frowned. “I’m your age.”  
  
“You’re smaller”, he winked at him. John clenched his fists and narrowed his eyes at him, and Greg raised his hands in alert. “Kidding.”  
  
“How did  _this_ happen?”, John asked, pointing at the two of them.  
  
Molly blushed and Greg laughed. “Remember Sarah’s party?”, Molly said. John nodded. “Well, we talked all night and we found out we had a lot of things in common and-”  
  
Greg pulled her into a hug, which she returned tightly. John smiled, they were an odd couple, but somehow they worked.  
  
After a while, Greg turned to look at John, smiled widely at him and said, “guess what?”  
  
“What?”, John asked in awe, feeling a bit nonplussed by Lestrade making conversation.  
  
“One of my dad’s friends works at Scotland Yard, in London. And he knows I like that sort of thing. He said he’d teach me some and if I work hard I might be a detective someday!”  
  
John found himself being strangely pleased for Lestrade. “Congratulations!”  
  
Lestrade nodded and smiled.  
  
Then Sherlock popped into John’s head. Detective. Sherlock would love that, he had already been asked several times to assist the local police. He felt sad for his… partner.  
  
Molly was saying something about her getting to study chemistry at a university in London and how it was mostly filled with men. She was beaming with excitement while Greg looked at him with an expression that could only be defined as  _smitten._  
  
Sherlock came out of the classroom, it was already late and people had already left school.  
  
John stared at him expectantly. Sherlock’s face was unreadable. When he reached John, Greg and Molly, he smiled widely and yelled. “I’m fucking free!”, he said, raising his hands in the air.  
  
Molly jumped of excitement while Lestrade cheered and John couldn’t help but throw himself at Sherlock, hugging him tightly, he whispered into his ear, “I’m so proud of you, you deserve this…”  
  
Sherlock hugged him back, and he finally replied, “They are staring at us.”  
  
John broke the hug and looked awkwardly at Greg and Molly, who had grown silent and were decidedly avoiding them. “Erm, Molly-”, John was about to apologize and say it was nothing, but Molly shrugged, “It’s okay, I know.”  
  
Greg immediately raised his hands in alert. “I didn’t tell her.”  
  
Molly laughed. “It was obvious, the way you looked at each other… It’s okay, by the way, just…”  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “-be careful, I know.”  
  
Sherlock hugged Greg goodbye and then Molly while the girl flushed. John hugged them too and they finally walked away from school. As soon as Sherlock stepped outside, he started to move his pelvis like Elvis, while John stared at him, biting his lip, god, was he aware of how impossibly hot he looked?  
  
“Holmes!”, a voice said behind him and Sherlock stopped moving, cleared his throat and  put his jacket collar up before turning and finding Hikes looking at him seriously, his arms crossed. “I would advise you to stop moving like that in the school…”  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes and replied, “but technically this is not part of the school since I already walked out of the door and it’s the last day of class, meaning it’s officially holidays and you don’t have the power nor the authority to do it so.”  
  
John rubbed his forehead. Seriously? Sherlock was looking for trouble on the  _last_ day of school? He was certainly going to get a detention for this, Hikes never really liked Sherlock and-  
  
“My thoughts exactly”, Hikes replied with a laugh. He extended his hand and Sherlock looked at it with a frown, but after a second shook it. “Well done, Holmes.”  
  
Sherlock’s eyes widened. “Erm- Thank you?”  
  
Hikes nodded and then turned to look at John. “I wanted to congratulate you gentleman… and Holmes, for the great job you did in my class. Good luck from now on and many happy returns.”  
  
John smiled, surprised at the sudden display of pride from Hikes. Of all the things that had happened this year, one of the most shocking for him was finding out he had enjoyed history. Although Sherlock might have had a little bit to do with it, but nonetheless, he liked it. And Hikes was a great professor, actually they owed all of it to him. If he had never forced them to work together, none of this would have ever happened, and although some things were a little shitty, John didn’t regret a single one of them. “Thank you, sir. Really. It was an honor to have you as a professor.”  
  
Sherlock looked at John and smiled fondly at him, then turned to look at Hikes. “Believe it or not, I agree.”  
  
Hikes shook John’s hand and walked away. Sherlock looked around as he left, and noticed that there was no one near, so he took John by the hand and tried to take him to John’s car, he was honestly desperate to leave, but John didn’t move an inch. He stood there, still, staring fixedly at the place where he had spent most of his childhood and part of his youth. His eyes were wide, and he was silent. Sherlock stared at him impatiently, but John didn’t even seem to notice.  
  
  
School. So many experiences he lived there. John grew up there, walking down this endless stack of lockers over and over and over. He grew up, yes, he learnt, yes, but he never really  _lived_ until Sherlock came to his life. School seemed to turn more colorful, more interesting since the day he saw the greaser walking in and everything changed.  
  
And now it felt bittersweet. It was saying goodbye, it was closing a chapter of his life, it was the end of an era.  
  
To open to a new one, but still, it was painful saying goodbye to a place that had seen him grow up in so many ways. It was as if a part of his soul was staying here forever, unable to leave, unable to walk away, to forget. That school, with the stupid greasers and the benches and the ugly lunch and the gray lockers and the noise and the people and the old teachers and the chalkboards and the shaking erasers… was  _his_ school, pierced in his heart, always.  
  
So he felt a little bit nostalgic. He stared at it for one last time, his last day as a high school student. He was terrified about what was about to come.  
  
He heard Sherlock whispering to his ear. “It really was a great school.”  
  
John turned to look at him with widened eyes, surprised with Sherlock’s “display” of emotion.  
  
“-it brought me to you.”  
  
John smiled at him, grabbed his hand and walked to the car, throwing a quick glance back to his old school before entering.  _See you soon, old friend._  
  
John stopped just as he opened the door. Sherlock looked up at him questioningly. “You drive.”  
  
Sherlock frowned. “What?”  
  
“Drive. I want you to.”  
  
Sherlock’s eyes shone and he smiled. “Really?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Sherlock sat on the driver seat, turned on the radio and started driving as he sang to Buddy Holly. John looked at him and couldn’t help the fond smile forming in his face. Sherlock didn’t even notice, he was far too absorbed in the music.  
  
It was unusual, all of this. It was crazy and unusual and the best thing that could have ever possibly happened. John remembered that first time Sherlock opened up about the accident, God, it seemed like it had been years ago, and now here they were, it was surprising, it really was, the way everything turned up, it was impossible, but if something impossible could ever happen to anyone in the world, that person was Sherlock Holmes. John was just the lucky guy next to him.  
  
He was immersed in thoughts when Sherlock shook him by the arm. “Hey!”  
  
John blinked, coming back to reality, and he smiled at Sherlock. “Earth to John…”, Sherlock said to him.  
  
John bit his lower lip and stared at Sherlock for a moment, at his perfectly combed (secretly curly) hair, his leather jacket, his blue/gray/green eyes, his perfect lips… He licked his own. “I’m ready”, John said to him, just a little louder than a whisper.  
  
Sherlock leaned closer to him, looking at him quizzically, “ready for what?”  
  
John caressed Sherlock’s cheekbones with his thumbs, gently and slowly. “For everything, Sherlock”, he replied, looking fixedly at him. “For everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've planned two chapters more and an epilogue, so no, this is not the end! See you soon! x


	48. Only You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I love you”, Sherlock whispered. And he meant it. With his heart, with his soul, with his everything, he meant it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Such a long chapter! Sorry for taking so long, but it was pretty difficult to write this little one, hope what you're about to read will be my redemption! :3 See you around for the last chapter and the epilogue! Thank you so much for your support lovelies! <3

As soon as they walked into the house, John pushed Sherlock against the door, forcing it closed. Sherlock replied with an ‘oof’, before John’s lips were on his. It was maddening, intoxicating, pure, it was like listening to Elvis singing to Jailhouse Rock loud on the radio while driving on full speed.   
  
Sherlock just couldn’t get used to it, couldn’t believe his luck. John Watson was standing in front of him, kissing him like his life depended on it, as if there was not enough air anymore and he needed to hold onto him to keep himself alive. “I love you”, Sherlock whispered as soon as they broke the kiss. And he meant it. With his heart, with his soul, with his everything, he meant it.   
  
John smiled, he was already out of breath. He grabbed Sherlock’s hand and started leading the way towards the greaser’s bedroom. And god, Sherlock wanted this, he felt every cell in his body getting eager, oversensitive, all of his senses coming alive, only one thought on his mind,  _John, John, John._   
  
As soon as they arrived to the bedroom, Sherlock felt terrified.   
  
This was stupid. John had implied he wanted to do this, he himself had done it before, why was he terrified? What if John realized he didn’t really want this? What if he was having second thoughts? What if John never really wanted this, and Sherlock had gotten it wrong? What if now he felt too embarrassed or scared to say no? What if this was all one huge mistake?   
  
A soft, tender feeling on his cheeks. John was caressing his cheekbones with his thumb. “Hey”, John said softly, leaning closer to him and whispering into his neck as he buried himself in it, “Sherlock, I want this, I want you, I want to be with you.”   
  
Sherlock tried to shake his fears away but he simply couldn’t. “You don’t know that, John. What if I-”   
  
John looked up and placed a finger over Sherlock’s lips, making him go silent immediately. “Don’t. This is what I want. Unless-”, he started hesitantly, looking away, “unless this is not what you want.”   
  
Hell, John Watson was never wrong. In all those  _two hundred and ninety two, no, three,_ days Sherlock had met him, he had been Mr. Punchline, always getting it right. But now, John was  _wrong._ Wrong in so many ways. “Ever since you sat on that couch sulking while I sang to  _Roll Over Beethoven_ I’ve wanted this, so shut up and kiss me.”   
  
“Uh, I like this Sherlock”, John flirted, with a big smile on his face.   
  
And then they were kissing again. And again, and again. Sherlock thought for a second, wondered if this would be okay, but in for a penny, in for a pound. His tongue darted out and he slowly licked John’s lower lip. He knew the effect it had on him. He loved that effect.   
  
John moaned, his hands reached up to hold the back of Sherlock’s head, bringing him impossibly closer, so close they could feel each other’s exhales, breathe the same air. It was inebriating.   
  
They broke their kiss and Sherlock took this as an opportunity to explore John Watson, he kissed the space right behind his earlobe, went down and kissed his jaw, went down and kissed his neck... John couldn’t help but hold onto him, grabbing his white shirt into fists, as if he couldn’t get enough, as if this close was not close enough. Sherlock’s hand caressed John’s face, his cheekbones, his soft lips, those lips…   
  
And suddenly, John’s hands passed from grabbing Sherlock’s t-shirt, to bury themselves in the lapels of his leather jacket, holding tightly. Until, slowly, painfully slowly, he started pulling it off Sherlock’s shoulders.   
  
It felt too heavy, as if his jacket was a burden he had never realized he had been carrying, a weight he desperately needed to take off. He started moving his arms everywhere, trying to get rid of it, while he still kissed John’s neck.   
  
Somehow, it all ended up being a tangle of arms and leather and Sherlock couldn’t move, he raised his face from where he was kissing John and rolled his eyes. “Damn it!”   
  
John broke in laughter. “Let me help you, love”, he said tenderly, as he helped Sherlock untangle from the jacket, and finally  _oh god finally,_ Sherlock was able to take his jacket off. It fell to the floor with a thump.   
  
And they were kissing again. It felt as if their lips attracted each other like magnets, desperate for contact. It was an open-mouthed kiss that had both of them panting immediately. It was getting harder and harder for Sherlock to ignore his half-hard cock. He tried as much as he could to keep his groin as far from John as possible, he understood it could be a little bit…  _intimidating_ to realize about other person’s eagerness.   
  
Their kiss grew like a crescendo. Slowly, progressively, it was becoming more and more intense, until it couldn’t be stopped anymore, a hungry desire to just  _know_ Sherlock Holmes absorbed  John completely.   
  
So he dared, and slowly drew his hand down until it found the bottom of Sherlock’s shirt, and he tucked it beneath, caressing the soft skin, the skinny, far too skinny yet somehow surprisingly muscular abdomen, the pronounced ribs, the pectorals, and rubbed his thumb over one of his nipples, causing Sherlock to jump immediately. “God- John!”, the greaser said, painting, as John retreated his hand, suddenly feeling nervous to carry on. Sherlock’s hand stopped touching John’s face to grab the boy’s hand and guide it back to where it had been seconds ago. “Do that again.”   
  
Sherlock spoke in that hateful voice that was able to wake every single one of John’s senses, and how could he resist? He could feel himself already getting hard just by listening to that voice saying his name in that way. It seemed surreal, fantastic, amazing, brilliant…and every variation of the English language.   
  
So he rubbed, and as he did so, Sherlock grabbed his own shirt and started taking it off. It was such a fantastic feeling, as his pectorals moved. As soon as his shirt fell to the floor, John looked down. It was such an incredible sight, the way his fingers seemed to match with Sherlock’s skin, as if they were made for each other, as if their skins were meant to tangle.   
  
John got out of that train of thought as soon as Sherlock moaned loudly. The boy widened his eyes, placed a hand over the greaser’s mouth and whispered, “Mrs. Hudson!”   
  
Sherlock shook himself out of John’s hand and squirmed. “God, must you bring her up while I’m trying to get off with you?”   
  
John laughed. “Don’t be silly, she’ll hear us, if she hasn’t already!”   
  
Sherlock moved away from John a bit and rubbed the back of his head, looking down. “She, em- She moved out.”   
  
“What?”, John frowned at him.   
  
“She decided to retire. Which was a very wise decision, considering I’m very hard to handle, and I’m only bound to get worse with time. I hope you know what you’re getting into. Literally”, he tried to smile, but apparently it looked bitter, because John replied very seriously.   
  
“Sherlock, I’m sorry, I didn’t know”, he said rubbing the greaser’s forearm.   
  
“You had no reason to know. It was just before your disappearance.”   
  
John seemed to get that Sherlock didn’t want to keep talking on the matter, so he tried to cheer him up, “well, just this time this will be an advantage.”   
  
Sherlock frowned, “How so?”   
  
“We can be as loud as we want”, John said smiling at him, his eyes wide.   
  
Sherlock smiled back. “What if Mycroft comes?”   
  
John’s smile passed from looking like a good-hearted smile to a mischievous smile in a matter of seconds. “Then we’ll be louder!”   
  
Sherlock laughed. “This. This is why I love you, John Watson.”   
  
They kissed again, and Sherlock used this opportunity to gently push John towards the bed. They were still standing right behind the closed door, as if both of them were absolutely terrified the other one would change their mind if they moved an inch. John didn’t complain, and they found themselves falling over the mattress, being a tangle of legs and arms and being so absurdly happy that Sherlock was worried for a second that all of this was a product of his imagination.   
  
John sat up and stared at Sherlock, panting. His eyes were fixed on him, on his face, on his long neck, on his bare chest. Slowly, he took his glasses off and put them on the table next to the bed, without saying a word and without taking his eyes off the greaser. Sherlock couldn’t stop looking at John either, it was as if some kind of spell had fallen over both of them, unable to look at anything else, unable to care about anything else, just the two of them, right here, right now.   
  
Then John, with his eyes still on Sherlock’s, grabbed his wool sweater and took it off, slowly, exposing a buttoned shirt beneath. Sherlock wanted to reach out and help him unbutton it, but his hands were shaking too much and he would be absolutely useless. Plus, he was rather enjoying the sight.   
  
_One, then the other, the other, the other, why so many buttons, for God’s sake? Who invented these shirts? Didn’t they want to get laid?_   
  
Sherlock kept looking at John’s face, using all his will to not look down at John’s progressively bare chest.   
  
Finally, after what felt like an agony, John unbuttoned the last one, still looking at Sherlock, licking his lower lip instinctively. And the shirt was off, and John had never done this before, and Sherlock felt overwhelmed by the intensity and the intimacy of this moment.  _This,_ he thought,  _this will be stored in my mind palace for the rest of my life._   
  
Sherlock felt unusually bold, so he knelt over the bed, still a bit apart from John, his eyes completely focused on the boy in front of him, and silently, slowly, unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans.   
  
John’s gaze, which had been constant so far, betrayed him, and he looked down as Sherlock unzipped his jeans and pulled them off, throwing them to the floor, leaving him wearing only his pants, that were covering his hardening cock.   
  
John looked down and then up, and as he met Sherlock’s eyes, a blush took over him, he smiled nervously and nodded encouragingly at Sherlock, whose hands were now roaming over the edge of his pants.   
  
Slowly,  _why are we being so slow? –because we have all the time in the world. –that’s a lie. –but we want to believe it,_ Sherlock pulled his pants down and took them off, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.   
  
John couldn’t help but stare at his already hard cock, his face gave nothing away, he just looked at it, and when he found Sherlock’s eyes once again, all he could say was, “This is unfair, how can you be so perfect, in every single way?”   
  
Sherlock shook his head. “Am not.”   
  
John raised a finger menacingly. “Don’t ever say that again. Ever. You’re perfect. End of the story.”   
  
Sherlock felt shocked by the seriousness behind John’s words. There was no hesitation on them, not second guessing, just conviction. He believed it. John believed in what he was saying, he believed that Sherlock was perfect. Was it because of him being without his glasses? Probably, Vic- em, no one had ever said such thing to him. Sherlock felt overcome by joy. John was perfect too, he was far much more perfect than Sherlock would ever aspire to be. He was complete, he hadn’t been battered, fooled at, and played with over and over. He was full, whole, perfect.   
  
Sherlock blinked and when he came back to reality, he realized that John was starting to take off his trousers. He looked nervous, hesitant, doubtful, terrified, what could he be terrified of?  He was perfect.   
  
“Can I?”, Sherlock asked softly.   
  
John looked up at him, taking his hand off the zip of his jeans immediately. “Hm?”   
  
“Can I? I um- I want to undress you.”   
  
John bit his lower lip and nodded, up and down, up and down. Sherlock got closer and looked down to John’s jeans, and the very obvious bulge beneath them. He swallowed. He felt nervous now, completely terrified. He realized his hands were trembling. He unbuttoned it fast, and unzipped it, while John stared deep into his eyes, as if he could read everything they tried desperately to hide, over and over and over.   
  
Sherlock finally looked up and their eyes met. John’s gaze was different, it was dark with desire, and it was so deep that Sherlock felt like his eyes could burn a hole through his brain if they wanted to. There was no hesitation in his eyes, no doubts, just the same conviction he had when he said that Sherlock was perfect.   
  
That look encouraged Sherlock, who hooked his fingers on the waistband of John’s pants and started to pull them down. As soon as he did, those penetrating eyes fell closed and John threw his head back.   
  
And now John Watson was naked. He was naked in Sherlock’s bedroom. And he was expecting to feel self-conscious, nervous and scared, just like he felt when he was about to take off his jeans, but it didn’t happen. It struck him, how much he really trusted Sherlock, he trusted with him with his life, with his body.   
  
Sherlock’s eyes couldn’t stay on John’s face, and they roamed down until they found John’s hard cock. “Jesus, John, you’re going to drive me mad!”   
  
John stifled a laugh by biting his lip. “Kiss me.”   
  
Sherlock could do nothing but obey. He leaned closer and their lips met, he bit the boy’s lower lip. God, John’s lips should be illegal. John leaned back until he was laying on his back over the bed, Sherlock on top of him, straddling his hips, but trying to keep the distance between their cocks.   
  
They kissed while their hands explored their bare bodies, finally being able to reach, to caress, to discover, to explore everywhere.   
  
293 days since that moment when John’s life had turned upside down without him even knowing. 293 days since Sherlock thought he had found himself someone new to bother, his ticket to popularity. 7032 hours, 25’315.200 seconds and 30’378.240 heartbeats. And they had never felt more alive.   
  
And they  _felt_ it. With every inch of their bodies, with every breath they took, with every touch of their lips, they felt it.   
  
Sherlock finally gathered courage and decided he’d have to guide John through this. He wanted to teach him, to show him, to prove him how wonderful this could get to be when one was with the person they loved.   
  
It was the first time for Sherlock, too. The first time without restrains, without lies, without facades, without a wrong idea of what love felt like.   
  
He gradually leaned down until their cocks brushed with each other, and the sensation was indescribable. It was like he imagined when he heard on the radio about the Sputnick’s launch into space, a thousand of fires exploding, capable of sending a whole object out of this Earth. That was how touching John Watson felt like.   
  
And it became uncontrollable. The spark ignited the fire and Sherlock couldn’t be apart from this boy anymore. He wondered how he had managed to last so long apart from John Watson.   
  
John opened his mouth but no sound came out of it. He simply whimpered and started rocking his hips against Sherlock’s, desperately seeking friction, needing to feel Sherlock, make sure that he was  _here,_ that he was  _alive,_ that he was  _breathing,_ that everything would be fine.   
  
They kissed and held onto each other. They couldn’t tell how much time passed, for time had turned into a very relative thing. John had read it once, apparently Einstein had said it, but this was the definite proof. It was as if they were suspended on a different kind of reality, on a different universe, just the two of them. A place where time both moved too fast and didn’t move at all.   
  
They fell back to earth and seconds started ticking again when they stopped kissing, and John found that this kind of reality was boring, he preferred the parallel universe. Sherlock looked at him with a smile, he was panting and sweating and there was some sparkle in his eyes that John had never seen before and that now he couldn’t stop seeing anymore. And he had never looked more perfect. He didn’t think it would be possible, but apparently Sherlock defied laws of physics and science and of everything else in this world.   
  
He smiled back at him. Sherlock was both impossible and improbable.   
  
“Do you trust me?”, the greaser asked.   
  
John could only nod, trying to rock into Sherlock’s hips again.   
  
Sherlock smiled mischievously and kissed John again, then kissed his jaw, and his neck (and John felt like he was going to explode), and then his chest, his nipples (John actually almost exploded at that, only stopped by the loud, and yes, very,  _very_ loud moan that escaped from him), his belly, and oh, oh, Sherlock’s mouth found John’s cock, and John felt like he had effectively stopped breathing.   
  
Just the feeling of Sherlock’s hot breath over John’s cock was enough to make him go over the edge, but he tried as hard as he could, god, he wanted this, he wanted this desperately. “Sherlock, please-”   
  
“Yes, John?”, Sherlock asked teasingly, his voice ghosting over John’s groin.   
  
“I need, I need-”, he felt like if he finished this sentence, he would actually faint, so he hoped his actions would say more than his words and he pushed his cock towards Sherlock’s mouth.   
  
Sherlock laughed but complied. Next thing John felt, the greaser was licking a line along John’s cock, softly, slowly. John had never, ever felt something like this before, it was absolutely crazy, completely unreal, to feel this incredibly fantastic.   
  
He was joined by Sherlock’s hand caressing John’s length, as the greaser slowly, oh god why so slowly, took John in his mouth.   
  
John bit his lip so hard he really, really felt he had drawn blood from it. It didn’t matter, the rest of his body had shuttled down in order to  _enjoy_ this, to let go, to just  _feel_ and don’t care at all about the rest of the world. He squeezed his eyes closed, but then he remembered: Sherlock was taking him in his mouth, he  _had_ to watch this. He opened his eyes, and the sight was almost enough to make him come, just the sight of it. Those perfect bowed lips closing over his cock, Sherlock’s eyes closed, his long, perfect fingers holding John tightly, it was too much. John felt the need to pinch himself and make sure that this wasn’t some kind of absolutely embarrassing fantasy, that this was really happening, that him, John Hamish (the only secret he’s kept from Sherlock, his middle name!) Watson, the ‘nerd’ of the school, would be getting the most incredible blowjob of all times by no more no less than perhaps the most popular and most desired boy in the school.   
  
It seemed too good to be true. Yet it was.   
  
“Sherlock!”, John couldn’t help but yell.   
  
Sherlock looked up to him, with his cock still in his mouth and he smiled at the boy with his eyes, and it was a look so full of love, that John felt like he was going to die of love. It didn’t make sense at all, but god, dying of loving someone too much sounded like a wonderful way to die.   
  
The greaser kept licking John, pulling his mouth in and then out, just touching the tip, to then bury itself again, and John  _needed._ He needed- he didn’t even know what he needed, he just needed Sherlock there, forever, for the rest of his life. He… oh. Realization hit him. His mouth spoke before his brain processed it. “Jesus, Sherlock, I need you inside me!”   
  
Sherlock’s mouth stopped immediately, but John was far too gone to even consider what he had just said. The greaser looked up and found the boy’s eyes closed as he panted. He pulled John’s cock out of his mouth completely. The boy opened his eyes and looked at Sherlock with a pleading face.  _More, more, everything._   
  
Sherlock frowned. “You, you- what?”, he couldn’t quite believe what his ears had heard.   
  
John had two options: either to look terrified and say ‘never mind’, or to play smug. He chose the latter. He looked at Sherlock straight in the eye and repeated it, trying to still his voice as much as he could. “I. Want. You. Inside. Me. Right. Now.”   
  
Sherlock closed his eyes and moaned, his forehead falling over John’s chest. “God, oh John, say that again.”   
  
John smiled and whispered it into Sherlock’s ear. “I want you. Inside me. Now, Sherlock.”   
  
Sherlock kissed John’s chest and nodded. “Anything, John. Anything you want.”   
  
John barely managed to smile a bit. He had never, ever in his life felt anything remotely related to this feeling, to this desperate desire for more.   
  
Sherlock moved for a second, the warm of his body leaving John’s for a moment. The greaser roamed for something in his drawer and came back carrying a bottle of baby lotion.   
John, panting and with his cheeks flushed, trying hard to keep his eyes open, cracked up in laughter because this whole situation was absurd and unbelievable and perfect.   
  
Sherlock shushed him with another kiss and poured a lot of lotion in his hand. John suddenly felt very, very nervous. He had never, ever done this before –although Sherlock knew that- and he had absolutely no idea what to do, he only knew there was some kind of magnetic force pushing him towards Sherlock’s body, requesting for more, demanding more.   
  
Sherlock caressed John’s belly with his hand, roamed down until it stopped in his cock and the boy moaned a bit at the contact. The greaser stroked it once or twice, John could feel how every single cell in his body seemed to move in harmony with Sherlock’s hand, how all of his senses focused on that particular place where hand and skin met, and the sensation was so overwhelming he felt he was about to come.   
  
He grabbed Sherlock’s wrist and pushed it apart a bit, warning him. Sherlock kept kissing him and caressing, until his hand found John’s hole. He massaged the skin around, as he kissed John with his everything. He knew how this felt for the very first time, and even though it was the most pleasurable experience, it was also painful, and he wanted the boy to feel as less pain as possible.   
  
The greaser used his cream-filled hand and slowly drew circles around the hole, causing John to squirm a little, in despair. And then, carefully, slipped his index finger inside.   
  
John didn’t say a word and didn’t move, but his eyes said enough by themselves. The boy had shut them completely and there was a grimace in his face that could only mean pain. Sherlock kissed him harder, wishing to take the pain away, to feel it himself. “Shhh, it’s okay. It’s okay.”   
  
He pulled his finger out gently, and then moved it back inside, and John moaned louder than ever before. Sherlock smiled. John started rocking his hips involuntarily, desperately needing to feel that again.   
  
Sherlock took the moment to put a second finger inside. John flinched again and bit his lip. The greaser used his other hand to rub little circles on John’s hair, trying to soothe him. Finally, the boy opened his eyes and they found Sherlock’s. “Alright?”, Sherlock asked.   
  
John managed to smile. “Yes.”   
  
Sherlock kissed him again and moved both of his fingers in and out, trying to soothe the sore skin around. At this point he was desperate with need, but he felt surprised to find out it was a different kind of need: it wasn’t just a desire to get off, as it used to be with…  _Not now,_ no, it was a need for contact, for seeing John falling apart in front of him, he wanted John, the perfect boy with the perfect grades to lose control, to let himself go.   
  
God, he had never wanted anything like this. It was overwhelming, this sensation to mingle every particle of himself with John’s, to feel like one, to be as close as possible.   
  
He added a third finger, his heart racing even faster, both from pleasure and from fright, he was nervous. He was nervous for what was about to come, he wanted it to be perfect, he wanted John to remember this forever, he wanted to pierce himself inside of John’s brilliant brain, be the only fixed point in his life.   
  
He moved his fingers in and out, scissoring. At one moment, he reached John’s prostate and the sight was addictive: John was sweating, panting Sherlock’s name, asking him for more, over and over, and it was the most incredible and fantastic and perfect moment of his life.  _The best moment of your life so far,_ a voice reminded him.   
  
They both needed it, they both needed the reassurance that life could be good, that life could be worth it, that there was not just pain and disappointment, that there was love and trust and luck.   
  
Sherlock placed his cock right in front of John’s entrance, and as slowly and gently as he could, got in, and kept entering and entering until there was nothing standing in their way: finally connected, finally being one.   
  
John opened his eyes while his mouth formed a big ‘o’ and stared deep into Sherlock’s eyes. The greaser looked at him intently, they were good at that silent conversation of looking at each other. Sometimes their gazes were capable of saying more than words, and there had never been a gaze more loaded with meaning than this one: it was filled with promises, with needs, with reassurances, with love.   
  
Sherlock pulled out, but not completely, and then inside, and John’s eyes shut closed. The boy’s hands grabbed at Sherlock’s forearms, while the greaser’s held onto John’s hips, steadying him, establishing a rhythm.   
  
John’s hands were holding tightly, with trust. Their skins were oversensitive, and Sherlock nearly lost it at the feeling of hands meeting arms. He started thrusting harder, it was impossible not to.   
  
John’s hold tightened and the boy started panting right at Sherlock’s ear. “Oh God, Jesus, Sherlock,  _please._ ”   
  
John’s voice was like poison, a little touch of it and Sherlock lost himself.  _This,_ he thought,  _this is better than any drug I’ve ever taken._ “John”, he simply said, thrusting once again.   
  
John crossed his legs behind Sherlock’s buttocks, and his feet slowly caressed them with every thrust, and this was the most incredible feeling in the world, that feeling of knowing that John was here, there and everywhere.   
  
Sherlock kept thrusting until he found John’s prostate and the boy shivered completely, biting his lip and moaning really loud. The greaser loved to see John like this, so he kept doing it.   
  
It was like a symphony. A symphony of panting and rushed breaths and incomplete names mingled with the moans of pleasure, it was a crescendo, ascending, ascending, ascending, rushing rushing and rushing and reaching its climax and Sherlock could feel it and John could feel it and oh god how much did they want it not to end, how much they wanted to stay like that forever, completely connected, just the two of them stripped bare, out of appearances, out of disguises, out of pretentions, out of secrets.   
  
John felt himself reaching its climax. Sherlock seemed to sense it too and his hand grabbed his dick and started stroking and stroking.  _Agitato, allegro, brioso, passionato._   
  
 The words simply came to Sherlock’s mind. It was unusual, it had been so long since he last heard classical music. He wasn’t particularly fond of it, it brought far too many memories.   
  
_Empfindung is a german term that refers to a deep feeling or sensation. A good symphony generates an Empfindung in its listeners, like when I listen to Only You, or like listening to Elvis singing to Love Me Tender, or like Stardust, or when I remember the lyrics to Come Go With Me._   
  
_John is a good symphony._   
  
He looks at him and sees a thousand colors mingling together, coming alive.  _Al fine means till the end._   
  
And John is coming, all over Sherlock’s chest and belly while the boy closes his eyes, “Sherlock!”, he moans loudly _._ He had seen John come once before, but it hadn’t been like this, it hadn’t been so intimate, so filled with love, with desire, with unrestraint. Finally, the boy’s orgasm finishes and he whispers to the greaser’s ear, “God, I love you.”   
  
_Empfindung._   
  
And Sherlock is coming too. Inside of John. And the feeling is too powerful, too intense. It’s all so overwhelming that for a moment Sherlock fears that he will actually pass out there, his whole vision fading into black, every single one of his senses aligning themselves so he  _feels_ this, so he  _remembers_ this forever, so he stores every single sensation, every shiver, every moan, every pant, every unspoken love confession deep in his mind palace.   
  
And John loves him.   
  
And finally, when the world made sense again, he realized he’d collapsed over John, both breathing in unison, the earth moving once again.   
  
When Sherlock’s brain decided to start working, the only thing the greaser can think about is to say the words that are desperately fighting for leaving his mouth. “I love you too.”   
  
And the world might be ending, and future might be coming too fast to break them apart and now John’s leaving for university and Sherlock will be tied to this damned town for the rest of his life and everything might look blurry and life might seem like a burden and things are rushing too much, but tonight it doesn’t matter.   
  
Tonight they have each other.   
  
And that’s enough to stop the world from turning once again.


	49. Gonna Be Better Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Congratulations, you’re free."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a bit of homophobia!
> 
> This update comes with two chapters. Enjoy <3

“Damn! You look good!”, Harry said as soon as she stepped into her mother’s room and found her brother standing in front of the mirror.   
  
John smiled at her through the reflection of the mirror. “Thank you, and look at yourself! You look fantastic, Harry!”   
  
She smiled at him and entered the room, sitting on her mother’s bed. They stood silent until Harry finally spoke again. “So… Happy?”, she asked a little hesitantly.   
  
John finished knotting his tie and turned to look at her. “I really, really don't know.”   
  
She frowned at him. “What do you mean you don't know? John, you got a scholarship!”   
  
John shrugged, tucking his hands into his trouser’s pockets. “Yes, I know. It's just- “he looked around the bedroom. “My whole life is going to change, Harry, so many new responsibilities, new things to worry about, and I don't know, it's like facing adulthood and I'm not quite sure if I'm ready yet. Plus, I'm really going to miss it in here…”   
  
Harry smirked. “You're really going to miss it in here, or you're really going to miss  _someone_ in here?”   
  
No point in denying it, really. Not anymore. Honestly, Harry had known since the very beginning, even before Sherlock and him had started to realise. Damn it, Harry was even better at reading John than Sherlock, and that was saying a lot.   
  
John sighed and nodded. “Yeah, okay. I'm going to miss Sherlock more than anything. I mean, how is this supposed to work if we’ll never be able to see each other and life will keep getting in the way?”, he asked, finally opening up about it, he really felt the need to speak it out loud.   
  
Harry shrugged. “Break up with him.”   
  
Well, that was not what John was expecting. “What?”, he asked in disbelief.   
  
Harry looked down and started playing with the fabric of her skirt. “Is what Clara and I did, it was obviously not going to work, other people would get in the way, and we'd end up hurting each other even more with time, so it was better for us to just leave it like this. It really hurt, but you know, just the idea of going to NYC was enough to stifle the heartache.”   
  
“And don't you miss her?”   
  
Harry didn't look up. “Sometimes. But we haven't seen each other ever since, so I guess that helped. Im actually a bit nervous about how seeing her again today will feel like.”   
  
John shook his head. “It's a different situation. You'll be in a different continent, in a completely different world-”   
  
“In Elvis’ country!”, she said excitedly.   
  
John smiled and nodded, “-in Elvis’ country, so there really was no way in which it might actually have worked out, but Sherlock and I, we're not so far away…we might look for a solution.”   
  
Harry nodded. “Yeah, sure”, she said unconvinced.   
  
And those two words were enough to make John doubt. This wasn't going to work out, he could already tell. Eventually, it was going to end, every relationship was doomed to end, so why making it last any longer if it wasn't going to work out? Damn it, he was going to kill Harry Watson for making him think those horrible things. But he would worry about them later, definitely not today.   
  
He sat right next to Harry and looked at her. “So… New York, huh?”   
  
She finally looked up. “Yeah, New York! She said with a big smile on her face.”   
  
John smiled back, “I'm so proud of you, I really am, Harry.”   
  
“Well, that's a first!”   
  
“I'm really- em, I'm going to miss you, Harry. I really will.”   
  
Harry nodded. “I know. I'm going to miss you too. You have to go and visit me someday!”   
  
New York City sounded exactly like the place John would be terrified to go to. But he would also be really excited to visit it, with its huge neon lights everywhere and with the tall buildings, it sounded like an incredible place to go to, a whole different universe. “I will”, he promised.   
  
“Oh, look at you two!”, their mom said as she walked into the room, clasping her hands, “you look so good!”, she said, and her eyes were starting to fill with tears.  _No tears, please, you'll make this harder,_ John thought to himself.   
  
John stood up and gave his mom a big hug.   
  
When they broke the hug, both of them were unable to hold back the tears. “I'm so proud of you. I remember like it was yesterday when you were just a couple of babies, and now you're here, all grown-ups, getting graduated!”   
  
Harry smiled at and gave her a quick pat on her shoulder, “come on, we're going to be late for the ceremony”, she said before walking out.   
  
John could see how his sister rubbed her cheeks as soon as she was out of the bedroom, cleaning her tears.   
  
_Into battle,_ John thought as he walked to their car.   
  
\------------   
  
The ceremony had been nice. Sherlock was sitting three seats away from him, and every once in a while their eyes would meet and they would have long conversations of staring at each other.   
  
John stood up to receive his diploma and a medal for his good grades, and as he walked over the stage, he saw his mom and his aunt cheering happily. He couldn't help but smile, then his eyes roamed through the crowd until they found Sherlock's. They greaser was staring at him with a huge grin on his face while he clapped, John replied with a smile.   
  
Sherlock’s name was called a few students after him. As soon as he stood up, John started clapping and cheering, as loud as he could. Lestrade was sitting right behind him and he managed to cheer even louder. The greaser walked through the stage and turned to look at the audience. John knew that Sherlock was looking for Mycroft, although he would never admit it. He hadn't seen Mycroft though, and he felt a bit sorry, he couldn't even imagine how Sherlock must feel if he found out that he hadn't come to his brother’s own graduation.   
  
Suddenly, before picking up his diploma, Sherlock stopped forcedly and stared at the audience, his posture going rigid immediately. John frowned, most people probably hadn't realised of it, but John could see how Sherlock looked uncomfortable.   
  
He turned to look at the audience but found nothing, well, not nothing, Mycroft was actually standing up and clapping at his brother.   
  
John smiled, but Sherlock's attitude seemed to have changed completely since receiving his diploma.   
  
He didn't meet John's eyes for the rest of the ceremony and would turn to look at his brother over and over. It was a little unusual.   
  
Molly was in charge of giving the last speech, and so she did as she cried a bit, and everybody else cried too, and all in all it was a beautiful ceremony, but John couldn't be more desperate for it to be over, and find out what had upset Sherlock so much.   
  
As soon as the ceremony was over, the greaser stood up and walked away, without saying goodbye to Greg nor to John. The boy stood up immediately, Sherlock couldn't leave without a goodbye, he just couldn't. He started to follow him, but the greaser walked too fast and John had trouble to keep up with his pace. He walked behind him for a while until Sherlock stopped, and so John did, a couple of steps behind, not saying anything.   
  
Sherlock sighed, closed his eyes, opened them and finally spoke up, “mother, father, this is John Watson.”   
  
“How did you-“, John started to ask, surprised to find out that Sherlock knew he was following him,  _hang on,_ “mother and father?”, he asked confused.   
  
A couple of middle-aged, posh looking people, with deeply blue eyes turned to stare at Sherlock, and then at John. In that single second, John's doubts got erased from his mind: there was no way these two people standing in front of them were not Sherlock's parents. The resemblance was uncanny.   
  
Those eyes scanned John up and down, followed by very well concealed expressions of surprise, but those attempts to hide emotions were not foreign for John, it was a Holmes’ thing and he could read them perfectly.   
  
Mycroft was standing behind his parents, and John thought he might look pleased, but no he didn’t, he was looking at John warily, also at Sherlock, as if afraid that any of them would ruin everything.   
  
“Pleased to meet you”, John said, trying to break the ice a little. He’d do anything to stop those two gazes from looking at him as if he was a bug.   
  
Sherlock’s father had very sharp factions, just like his son. His hair was curly too, and he wore a very ‘not amused’ expression on his face. He was young and was wearing a suit that probably cost more that John’s car. His mom seemed more judgmental, she wore a fine attire, and she had Sherlock’s eyes, but they were different, they didn’t look so transparent, they were kind of clouded, as if she was trying desperately to hide something.   
  
 Sherlock’s mom nodded with a tiny (fake) smile, then she turned to look at Sherlock, then to Mycroft. “How come we have never heard of him?”   
  
Mycroft rubbed the back of his neck and hesitated for a second. She looked at him accusingly, as if with just one look at John and Sherlock she had managed to find out every single detail about their relationship. “I- em- didn’t see it relevant to inform you about him. Why would I?”, he asked, trying to keep his face devoid of all emotion.   
  
“Why indeed?”, asked Sherlock’s father, looking John up and down.   
  
John felt awkward under his gaze and cleared his throat. “Um- it was really nice to know you, but, um, I have to go see my mom. See you later, Sherlock”, he said, turning to leave, but just before he did, Sherlock’s mom spoke.   
  
“Sherlock, you should ask your  _friend_ to come join us for dinner tomorrow night.”   
  
Sherlock’s eyes widened immediately, he had managed to keep his face impassive up until that point. “I- I”   
  
“You what?”, his father asked.   
  
“Em, wanna join, John?”, Sherlock asked, his voice trembling. His eyes seemed to be begging John to refuse the invitation.   
  
“Yeah, sure”, John replied, because seriously, how could he say no?   
  
Sherlock’s eyes widened even more.   
  
“We’ll certainly be delighted to have you”, Sherlock’s mom replied with a (fake) smile.   
  
John felt the need to run away. “I’ll be delighted to go. Thank you. Now if you excuse me”, he said and walked away as fast as he could without raising much suspicion.   
  
When he got to Harry, his mom and his aunt, he still felt their eyes over him. “Where the hell were you?”, Harry asked, looking annoyed.   
  
John cleared his throat. “Don’t want to talk about it.”   
  
“Congratulations my boy!”, his mom said, giving him a huge hug.   
  
John smiled. “Thank you mom”, he said, hugging her as tightly. And in that moment, it really hit him, the importance of all of this: this was his last goodbye, to school, to childhood, to the life he knew so far, even to this town he never really liked,  _to Sherlock._ No, not Sherlock.   
  
So he just hugged her, and tried to store in his mind every single detail: the breeze and the warm air announcing summer crossing down the football field, his mom’s arms around him, the weight of the medal hanging from his neck, the look of happiness in her face, Harry’s smile… He was going to miss all of it. But it was time to say goodbye.   
  
A tear managed to escape from his eyes, but he shook it away.   
  
He hugged Mike, Molly and even Greg and Sarah, despite all the things that had happened, but he didn’t see Sherlock anymore, and a part of him really didn’t want to see him for now, just because his parents terrified the hell out of him.   
  
There would be a family reunion at his aunt’s house, so they got in the car. As soon as John stepped into the driver’s seat, he asked, “can I put some rock n’ roll?”   
  
\---------------   
  
John’s tie was too tight. His shirt collar was strangling him. His trousers were choking him. His shoes were uncomfortable and he was absolutely horrified as he rang the bell of the Holmes’ manor.   
  
He cleared his throat, threw another glance at his suit to make sure that everything was okay and stood as straight as he could. He looked like a little soldier.   
  
The new housekeeper opened the door to him. “Mr. Watson, the Holmes are waiting for you at the grand dining room.”   
  
John nodded, feeling already uncomfortable, who the hell called him Mr. Watson? He was just 17 years old for god’s sake!   
  
He walked towards the dining room, and found Sherlock and Mycroft sitting already. Sherlock was scowling but looked up to John as soon as he walked into the room. “Hey”, John said, unable to erase that stupid besotted smile off his face.   
  
Sherlock smiled, but just a little bit. “Hello, John.”   
  
Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Sit straight, Sherlock, mother and father are about to come down”.   
  
“Hello to you, Mycroft”, John said.   
  
“Good evening, John. I hope I don’t have to ask you to be respectful towards our parents.”   
  
“I think we would both find that embarrassing”, John replied. Sherlock scoffed.   
  
Mycroft threw him an annoyed look and pointed him a chair. “Grab a seat.”   
  
“Thank you”, John said, sitting.   
  
Their parents appeared a minute later, surprisingly dressed up, John found that absurd, it was a  _family_ dinner, why did they have to be all dressed up? These weird posh families…   
  
John shook Mr. Holmes’ hand and nodded to Mrs. Holmes’ greeting.   
  
Sherlock sat straight immediately.   
  
The housekeeper –Mrs. Turner— served them their dinner and they sat in silence. This was so uncomfortable that John couldn’t even look up to meet Sherlock’s eyes, he just stared at the plate in front of him and ate it.   
  
Mrs. Holmes broke the silence. “So John, Sherlock met you at school, didn’t he?”   
  
John would have felt more relaxed at her attempt of conversation if she wouldn’t have been looking at him like that, as if he was some kind of idiot. He swallowed and cleared his throat. “Why, yes, he did. We saw history class.”   
  
She nodded slowly, thoughtfully. Then her gaze fell over Sherlock. “So, found a replacement for –what’s his name?, Victor?”   
  
Sherlock dropped his fork and went rigid immediately.   
  
“Mother”, Mycroft said.   
  
“What? I care about my son, I need to know what happens in his little head, don’t I?”, she replied sharply.   
  
Sherlock didn’t.   
  
“Does he provide them to you as well?”, his father asked, looking at John.   
  
John cleared his throat, but just before he could reply, Sherlock interrupted him, “No. He does not.”   
  
“He doesn’t need them”, John replied, clenching his jaw.   
  
“Are you certain of that?”, Mrs. Holmes asked, raising her eyebrow.   
  
“Yes, yes I am”, John replied with certainty, although deep inside there was a little doubt starting to grow.   
  
“May I ask you what is the nature of your relationship?”, Mr. Holmes asked.   
  
John took a deep breath before replying, “we are—together.”   
  
Mrs. Holmes giggled,  _giggled_ . “I thought you were over that, Sherlock.”   
  
Sherlock was silent, he kept his eyes fixed on the plate, although he wasn’t eating anything.   
  
“We had talked about it, hadn’t we?”, his father said. “When are you going to grow up, Sherlock?”   
  
“What’s coming now, another overdose?”, his mother said shaking her head.   
  
John clenched and unclenched his fists, telling himself to be patient, that he needed to cause a good impression on them, they were his boyfriend’s parents after all.   
  
“Perhaps we should start the therapies the doctor recommended us, remember?”, his mother said, turning to look at Mr. Holmes, “the ones with the electro-shocks. He said they had turned quite effective for  _inverts…_ ”   
  
“Okay this is enough!”, John said standing up abruptly, drawing the attention of the whole Holmes’ family. Sherlock widened his eyes and shook his head only slightly, “What’s the problem with you?”, he said (more like screamed), looking at Sherlock’s parents.   
  
The two of them remained silent, staring at John. “Don’t you see?!”, John said waving his hands in the air, hoping they would express all the rage he was feeling at the moment. “Your son  _needs_ you!”   
  
“John.” Sherlock said, warningly.   
  
John shook his head and looked down, a smile drawing in his face, that terrifying smile that could only mean John was bursting with anger. “Is your answer to everything to throw him somewhere else, to make him someone else’s problem? To call him a drug-addict and an invert and just walk away? Woah! A+ parenting!”, he said sarcastically.   
  
“John,” This time it was Mycroft saying it.   
  
“No, someone has to make them see reason!”, he said, looking at Mycroft. Sherlock seemed frozen in the spot, unable to say anything, to react in any way. “They think that you are capable of raising Sherlock by yourself, that all you need is a shitload of money and that would be the solution to all of your problems. You know what? If I had had the same parents, believe me, I would have done so much worse than you claim Sherlock does.”   
  
“Who do you think you are to come to my chamber and insult me and my family?”, Mr Holmes said, standing up.   
  
Mrs Holmes grabbed him by the elbow. “Pay him no mind, Siger. He’s probably high.”   
  
That statement seemed to take Sherlock out of his stupor, because it fell too close to home. It reminded Sherlock of Mack the Knife and of Moriarty and of John being almost unconscious and he couldn’t take it anymore. “THAT’S ENOUGH!”, he said, standing up in a rush.   
  
His parents turned to look at him, both of them raised an eyebrow, as if defying Sherlock to say another word.   
  
“I’M FUCKING EXHAUSTED OF YOU!”, Sherlock couldn’t seem to stop himself from yelling. It was all coming together: years and years of longing, of needing his parents next to him, listening to him, trying to understand him, not making him feel like a burden, like something they needed to get rid of. He had buried all of that, and pretended that everything was alright, but it wasn’t, it would never, ever be. “I  _needed_ you! I grew up thinking that I was worthless, that I was doing nothing but getting in your way, and you just didn’t care anymore, you thought everything would be okay with sending me to rehab, it never crossed your mind that what I actually might have needed was some  _love_ from my family? No, of course you never thought about it. You were too busy travelling around the world to notice.”   
  
“You can’t spend the rest of your life blaming other people for your own mistakes”, Sherlock’s mom replied coldly, worryingly calm.   
  
“I am not. I know I’ve made them all, I’ve messed up over and over and over. But how could I not do it, when my family never expects more from me? Messing up is everything I’ve always known, messing up is what you taught me. I grew up thinking that I was an idiot, that I was wrong in every single way, and that I could never be anybody”, Sherlock’s voice started to waver. Now it was John’s turn to look at him with widened eyes, “but I’ve had enough of this. I’ve had enough of trying too hard, of suffering too much, of longing for love. But most of all, I’ve had enough of you. I’VE HAD ENOUGH OF YOU!”   
  
The whole dining room went completely silent for a second. Sherlock was shaking with rage, he swallowed, trying to blink back the tears. His parents seemed to be far too calm, as if they were used to these outbursts.   
  
“So what are you going to do about it? Go and fetch more pills?”, his father asked, raising an eyebrow.   
  
Sherlock stared at him in disbelief. He clenched his jaw. “No. I’m not. I’ve left them.”   
  
“Oh, how many times have we heard the same sentence?”, Sherlock’s mom looked at his father, laughing.   
  
Sherlock breathed heavily, he looked pale and weak, as if his knees could give up in any second. Finally he dragged a deep breath. “Come, John.”   
  
John blinked. “What?”, he asked, but before he got his reply, Sherlock was already walking out the door and he had to rush to catch him. “I’m taking the burden off your shoulders. Congratulations, you’re free”, was the last thing Sherlock said before walking out of his house.   
  
As soon as he was outside, followed by John, Sherlock stopped and tried to breathe, but he just couldn’t do it anymore, he couldn’t find the strength. Tears started falling down his cheeks, unable to be stopped.   
  
John looked at Sherlock. “Hey, hey”, he said, walking towards him slowly.   
  
Sherlock didn’t look up.   
  
“What you did was incredible, Sherlock. I admire you so much. It was the right thing to do.”   
  
Sherlock kept crying, unable to reply. John understood that he didn’t want to talk about it, so he wrapped his arms around him. Sherlock leaned his head against John’s shoulder and sobbed loudly. “I can’t do it anymore, John”, he sounded defeated.   
  
“It’s okay, it’s okay. Everything is going to be alright. You are strong, love. You can do anything you want.”   
  
Sherlock shook his head and kept crying on John’s shoulder. John couldn’t do anything else but hold him tightly.   
  
A few minutes or a few hours later, John couldn’t tell, the door opened. Sherlock went rigid immediately. John’s hold only got firmer.   
  
It was Mycroft. He stopped in front of both of them, looking at them.   
  
Sherlock rubbed off the tears with his jacket. “What do you want, Mycroft?”   
  
Mycroft’s face remained impassive. “Did you mean it? What you said inside, did you mean it, Sherlock?”   
  
Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment, and then he nodded.   
  
“Alright then. It’s your choice”, Mycroft said looking down.   
  
Sherlock remained silent.   
  
“Mother and father didn’t seem to be bothered by it. They continued their meal in silence and they retired to their bedroom.”   
  
John felt even more rage, if that was even possible. Sherlock didn’t seem surprised.   
  
“-meanwhile, I made some phone calls”, Mycroft said hesitantly.   
  
Sherlock froze, he widened his eyes. “Oh?”   
  
“I talked to her. It’s all settled, what we talked about.”   
  
John frowned. “What?”, he asked, certain that he had blacked out for half of the conversation, because he didn’t understand a single word.   
  
“I wish it wouldn’t be this way, but I understand, brother mine. And you couldn’t end up in better hands”, Mycroft smiled weakly at Sherlock.   
  
Sherlock remained serious, his face almost impassive. “I thought you would put up a fight.”   
  
“Why would I?”, Mycroft replied.   
  
John felt even angrier than before. Was Sherlock going to a rehab center or something of the like? It sounded like it, but  _no. No, no, no._ “No, stop! What the hell are you talking about, for God’s sake? Sherlock, can you explain me what is going on?”   
  
Sherlock turned to look at John and blinked, as if he had just realized that he was there with them. He looked down. “It was supposed to be a surprise…”   
  
“A what? Sherlock, if you don’t tell me what is going on, I swear I’ll-”   
  
Mycroft rolled his eyes before interrupting John. “Mrs. Hudson.”   
  
“What?”, John said, still confused.   
  
“I was talking to Mrs Hudson”, Mycroft replied, as if the rest was obvious.   
  
John clenched his hands into fists. “What for?”, he asked.   
  
Sherlock cleared his throat before replying. “When she left, she had enough money so she decided to move to London. And she bought a house there. I, ehm. She has a spare flat.”   
  
“What?”, John asked in disbelief.   
  
“I asked her if she’d like to be the landlady of two awkward, silly, immature, and stupidly in love boys looking for a place to live in London. She was delighted.”   
  
John blinked. “You- what?”   
  
“I’m moving to London. With you. If you’d like to, of course.”   
  
John seemed to be unable to close his mouth, he stared at Sherlock, unable to reply. What could he possibly say?   
  
“Would you?”, Sherlock asked with uncertainty.   
  
John couldn’t stop babbling stupid phrases without being able to end them, until he finally decided to wrap his arms around Sherlock’s neck and kiss him deeply.   
  
Sherlock smiled into the kiss and returned it just as eagerly. That until someone cleared his throat.   
  
They broke apart, John blushing. Mycroft stared at them with a stoic but extremely bored expression on his face. “Sorry”, John said. He turned to look at Sherlock once again, “we’re moving to London?”   
  
Sherlock gave him the widest of smiles before nodding and replying, “we’re moving to London.”   
  
John smiled widely. Then he turned to look at Mycroft, “thank you.”   
  
Mycroft raised his eyebrows. “Nothing to thank for, John.”   
  
Sherlock smiled at his brother, perhaps for the very first time. “Thank you, Mycroft.”   
  
Mycroft nodded. Sherlock nodded too, and it seemed like that was enough of a goodbye.   
  
Sherlock walked towards John’s car and John went to follow him, but before he did, a hand on his forearm stopped him. He turned to look at Mycroft. “John. Look after him, please”, he said.   
  
John nodded, of course he would.   
  
Mycroft let go and John joined Sherlock in the car with a smile.   
  
As soon as John entered to the cab, Sherlock turned on the radio, as loud as he could.  _When I Found You_ by Jerry Reed started playing.   
  
John started the car with a smile on his face. As soon as the music flooded the car, with the guitar riffs and the cello in the background, Sherlock seemed to calm himself completely.   
  
_When I found you, when I found you,_   
_I knew my days of being all alone were through,_   
_When I found you, when I found you,_   
_All my dreams come true._   
  
Sherlock hummed to the song, as soon as the engine started, he exclaimed, “go, go!”   
  
John turned to look at him, Sherlock had his eyes closed, his knees to his chest, his head laying on the edge of the seat, it was the most beautiful sight. He looked so peaceful, as if with taking the burden off his parents he had taken it off himself as well.   
  
“Where to?”   
  
“Nowhere. Everywhere. Just go.”   
  
John laughed. “I love you”, he said, unable to erase that goofy smile off his face. Sherlock smiled wider at him in response.   
  
Off they were.  _Gonna Be Better Times_ by Al Urban started playing.   
  
And nowhere, everywhere, they drove. They drove for hours, nothing but the sound of rock n’ roll playing in the background, and they drove, they drove and drove, until they got lost in the midst of the star-filled sky.


	50. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. After a year and a half and a lot of writer's block, this little one is finished.
> 
> I can't even begin to thank you for all your support towards this fic, in the ups and downs, in those times when it seemed like the pain was unstoppable and they would never ever be happy, when there was nothing but darkness, thank you for sticking with me. It was an incredible ride, I just couldn't help falling in love with this version of John and Sherlock, and I did my best to bring you a teenlock fic that had it all, I'm sorry for causing you a lot of pain, but hey doesn't that remind you of BBC Sherlock itself? 
> 
> I want to thank each and every single person who took the time to leave kudos or to leave a comment, or just decided to read this. It means the world for me, and I can't even begin to explain the happiness I felt whenever I received a new comment. Thank you for supporting this project, but most of all, thank you for loving John and Sherlock.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this last chapter, and see you on the other side. 
> 
> You can always come and talk to me in my [tumblr](http://johnandsherlocks.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Oh, and please read the notes at the end. There's a little surprise for you.

**_1963_ **  
  
The snow fell upon Baker Street. John stopped in the front door, taking a deep breath. It was freezing, but it was that kind of cold that John could only associate with London and that somehow he always ended up relating to Sherlock, and it felt like home.  
  
As soon as he opened the door, he felt as if he had stepped into a completely different universe, a warm sensation covering his goosebumps, a sensation that felt so familiar and at the same time so strange. It was perfect.  
  
It had been five years since they moved in here.  
  
John climbed up the stairs slowly, feeling the creak, listening to rock n’ roll playing softly in the background.  
He opened the door with a small smile and froze in front of the flat.  
  
It was covered with candles, and surprisingly clean. Sherlock was standing in front of the table, tidying it up.  
  
“Tada!”, Sherlock said, raising his hands and smiling.  
  
John frowned while he smiled. “What is this?”, he asked.  
  
“Happy flat-versary!”, Sherlock exclaimed.  
  
“You never remember our flat-versary, Sherlock.”  
  
“Well, fifth time is a charm, isn’t it?”, Sherlock said, winking at him.  
  
John giggled while he walked towards him, wrapping him in his arms and kissing him deeply. “Happy flat-versary, love.”  
  
Sherlock smiled and turned to look at the stove. “I made dinner!”  
  
“You  _what?_ ”, John asked, surprised.  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Hardly a difficult sentence, please keep up John.”  
  
John rolled his eyes in reply. “You never cook”, he never had. Not in the 5 years they had shared this flat. He never showed any interest in learning, whatsoever.  
  
“John, I’m a genius. I bought a recipe book and the rest was fairly simple. Now shut up and sit.”  
  
John smiled widely and kissed Sherlock on the forehead before sitting.  
  
Sherlock arrived a moment later, carrying something that looked like pasta on a plate.  “Enjoy!”, he said excitedly, sitting in front of him.  
  
John grabbed a bit of pasta. It looked as if it had been burnt, and it tasted even worse, but Sherlock had made it, and so he would eat it. Sherlock looked at him with something akin to uncertainty in his features, but John nodded, smiled and hmmed.  
  
Sherlock smiled and tried the pasta, but spitted it. “Stop pretending. This sucks”,  he said seriously.  
  
“No” It doesn’t! Fine, yeah, we need to work on your cooking skills,  _genius._ ”  
  
Sherlock snorted. “Never trying that again.”  
  
John smiled. “I don’t care. You did it and I’ll eat it.”  
  
Sherlock stood silent for a moment before replying, “Thinking it better, I used the same saucepan in which I had burnt the eyes last week. So I’d recommend you not to keep eating.”  
  
John spit the soda he had been drinking. “What?”  
  
“You know, because of the bacteria and stuff. Boring.”  
  
John looked at him in disbelief. “How about we call the fast food restaurant?”  
  
“Good idea”, Sherlock replied with a tiny smile.  
  
John did so, and while he did, Sherlock paced from one side to the other of the living room. John had gotten to know those expressions, he knew that Sherlock wanted to say something but he didn’t know how, and so as soon as he hung up, he sat on the couch and crossed his arms, looking at Sherlock with fondness, waiting for the moment when he would finally make up his mind and spit it out.  
  
Sherlock stopped. “I got you something.”  
  
Well, that was certainly something John was  _not_ expecting. “You did?”, he smiled.  
  
Sherlock nodded and took out from the fireplace a box. “Happy flat-versary.”  
  
John opened it excitedly. When he did so, he couldn’t help his mouth from falling open, his mind from supplying the image of that moment, years ago, when his life changed forever.  
  
“ _Come Go With Me_ ”, John said, taking the single out of the wrapping paper.  
  
Sherlock cleared his throat. “Yes, well, I was looking through our record collection-”  
  
“ _Your_ record collection”, John corrected him.  
  
“Don’t interrupt me! And I realized we didn’t have that particular song. How was it possible?”, he asked with indignation.  
  
John smiled and leaned towards him. “It’s perfect, thank you so much love”.  
  
Sherlock seemed to be able to relax for a second, his posture not so rigid anymore. His lips met John’s, in a slow and tender kiss. It had been 5 years and two hundred and ninety five days since they had met for the very first time, and yet every time they kissed, John felt as if he was unveiling another little piece of Sherlock, as if Sherlock was revealing another part of himself. It was magical.  
  
When they broke the kiss, it took John a moment to put himself back together before he managed to say, “I got you something too.”  
  
Sherlock raised an eyebrow, surprised.  
  
John got out of the bag he was carrying a badly wrapped present and gave it to Sherlock. “You never remember our flat-versary, but I do.”  
  
“You never get me anything for our flat-versary.”  
  
“I do, every year. You just never realize the date it is.”  
  
Sherlock smiled at him while he opened the present. “Elvis!”, he exclaimed excitedly as soon as he saw it.  
  
“Yeah”, John nodded, looking at Sherlock fondly, “apparently it’s his newest album, a compilation or something of the sorts. Just arrived t England.”  
  
“God, I’d been waiting for  _Blue Hawaii_ since it was announced on the US, thank you John”, he said happily.  
  
But then the smile vanished from his face.  
  
And whatever he had to say to John he might as well do it once and for all.  
  
“Tell me what’s wrong”, John said, seriously.  
  
Sherlock bit his lip and looked down, shaking his head. “Nothing.”  
  
“Sherlock-”, John said.  
  
“Fine! I just- I received a letter”, he hesitated before continuing, “from the chemistry department…”  
  
John looked at him expectantly, his eyes wide open. “And…?”  
  
“I got in!”, Sherlock said with a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes.  
  
“That’s fantastic, Sherlock!”, John said, standing up and hugging him. “I’m so happy for you! Where?”  
  
Sherlock went silent for a moment before saying, “…NYU.”  
  
“NYU?”, John asked blinking, “NYU as in New York University?”  
  
Sherlock bit his lip and nodded slowly.  
  
John had to sit down. It was all coming in a rush: he was happy but he was sad but he was angry but he was supposed to be happy and he didn’t quite know what this feeling was he just knew that he hated it and he wanted it to stop.  
  
“…you never told me you were applying to the NYU”, he said lowly.  
  
“I never expected to get in.”  
  
John nodded. “That’s- good. I mean, yeah. I’m glad you’re- yeah”, he tried to, but he couldn’t find the words.  
  
Sherlock grabbed the single of  _Come Go With Me_ and put it on the record player. As soon as it started playing, John closed his eyes, a thousand memories coming back to him. Dewer’s Hollow was warm in the midst of an autumn afternoon, his head on Sherlock’s should while Sherlock sang the song, and John realized that he was in love, and he was unable to stop himself. It seemed like it had been ages ago, yet John could still feel the leather of Sherlock’s jacket on his cheek, and that tentative and uncertain first press of their lips.  
  
Sherlock opened his mouth and closed it over and over before saying, “I want you to come and go with me.”  
  
John’s eyes snapped open. “What?”  
  
Sherlock shrugged. “I want you with me.”  
  
John shook his head, “Sherlock, I haven’t finished my-”  
  
“Your career, I know. But you’re only a year away from doing it so, which is exactly the same amount of time til my classes start. Plus, I- I-”, he rubbed his head, uncertain of whether he wanted to say the next bit or not. He closed his eyes and spurted it all, “I signed you up for a scholarship!”  
  
John’s eyes widened. “You, you  _what?_ ”  
  
“I know you wanted to make your majoring in surgery, and you kept wondering how you would afford it, the university has the option to apply for a scholarship in that major. I- I signed you up and I- I sent them your grades, and they liked them very much.”  
  
John didn’t know if he should be bursting with anger or with happiness. He settled for none of those. “I can’t believe you did that!”  
  
“I-”  
  
He settled for anger now. “How could you not tell me? Didn’t you think it was important to share this with me considering it’s a decision about  _my_ academic life?”  
  
“I wanted it to be a surprise”, Sherlock replied, and all of the sudden, he looked like the 18 year old kid that was hidden behind that heavy leather jacket, that boy desperate for love that was only reserved for John.  
  
John closed his eyes and dragged a deep breath. A scholarship. To do a majoring in surgery, while Sherlock studied chemistry, in no more no less than New York City, the city where his sister was living in. It didn’t sound like an absolutely terrible idea anymore.  
  
He settled for happy now. Sherlock didn’t meet his eyes. Finally, after a seemingly endless silence, John spoke once again. “I’ve heard New York City has one of the highest murder rates in the world.”  
  
Sherlock looked at him, surprised, hope flaring in his face. “Is that a-?”  
  
John smiled at him and nodded. “Yes. I’ll come and go with you.”  
  
Sherlock smiled widely and threw himself at John, kissing him on the nose, the cheeks, his hair, everywhere he could. John stopped him for a moment, and looked him in the eyes, dead serious. “Just one condition”, Sherlock nodded expectantly, “we’re going to solve all of those murders.”  
  
Sherlock laughed. “Of course we will, doctor.”  
  
John leaned forward to kiss him once again, and when the B-side of the single ended, Sherlock stood up reluctantly to take it off, when he did, the radio started playing.  _I Want To Hold Your Hand_ sounded loud in the flat.  
  
“The Beatles!”, Sherlock exclaimed, excited.  
  
John rolled his eyes, he hated The Beatles. Even worse than Elvis, Sherlock seemed to love them even more. He didn’t see what their point was. “Oh no.”  
  
He turned to look at John, offended, “they’re going to be bigger than Elvis. You’ll regret not liking them.”  
  
“Trust me, they won’t be bigger than Elvis and I won’t regret it.”  
  
Sherlock started singing,  _Oh please, say to me, you’ll let me be your man, and please say to me, you’ll let me hold your hand…_ he sang, offering his hand to John.  
  
John grabbed it and stood up, Sherlock immediately wrapped his arms around him.  _And when I touch you I feel happy inside, it’s such a feeling that my love, I can’t hide, I can’t hide…_  
  
John laughed as he leaned his head against Sherlock’s shoulder while Sherlock swayed softly, from one side to the other. As soon as the song was over, Sherlock pressed a kiss to the top of John’s head before breaking their hold. He went to the couch and retrieved the LP John had gotten him. “You have no idea of how much I wanted to listen to it.”  
  
John smiled and nodded. As soon as the album started playing, a soft melody invaded the flat. Sherlock walked towards John and wrapped him in his arms once again. Perhaps this Elvis guy wasn’t so bad, was he?  _Wise men say, only fools rush in, but I can’t help falling in love with you…_  
  
Sherlock held him tightly and started moving slowly. John wrapped his arms around his neck and pressed his nose against Sherlock’s neck, allowing that soft, perfect, familiar scent to invade all of his senses.  _Some things are meant to be…_  
  
And he smiled. They were absolutely crazy, their lives were about to change forever, yet somehow they had one another, after fighting their way through it, invincible, unbreakable, unstoppable. They had each other, and that was all they needed. Outside, the snow kept falling, covering London in white.  
  
_Take my hand, take my whole life too, for I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it. I can't believe this is actually ending. I really can't. This fic was a huge part of my life and I enjoyed so much writing it!
> 
> I have to admit that for 90% of the time that it took writing this fic I swore that after finishing this I wouldn't ever want anything to do with this au, mostly because it was emotionally extenuating. I wanted this to be the last chapter and be done with this universe.
> 
> But I can't, not yet. 
> 
> Soooo, that being said, I just can't really say goodbye to this John and to this Sherlock. I can't right now, and I hate myself for this, but as soon as that thought came to my mind, a thousand ideas came with it, and so, *drums*: a sequel of I Can't Help Falling In Love With You is on its way and I'm expecting to start updating it in the very near future.
> 
> I wish I could tell you more but... spoilers! 
> 
> If you'd like to get the updates, hit that suscribe button!
> 
> Hope to see you very, very soon! ;)


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